Crushes, Crimes and Christmas
by DaisyDay
Summary: *THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!*...The title says it all!... During the merriest time of the season, Mike's yearnings for Connie surface as they investigate a series of deadly crimes. The question is, does she also harbor some feelings for him?
1. Chapter 1

(Most characters part of the L and O universe)

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CRUSHES, CRIMES AND CHRISTMAS

Chapter 1

December, 2010

Christmas in New York City is a spectacular sight to behold. The entire city illuminates with holiday spirit as the streets are filled with festively-decorated lined streets, holiday-themed store windows, and warmly-bundled shoppers. The entire city is turned into a winter wonderland.

Everyone knows that Christmastime in the Big Apple is truly the stuff dreams are made of.

Everyone, that is, except Mike Cutter.

The closest he ever came to Christmas enjoyment was observing the holiday celebrations through the window of his office in the District Attorney's building.

With his hands shoved in his pockets, he looked out of the glass window at the drifting snow. High above the sounds and lights of the city, he stood and watched the city below transformed into a fairyland of yuletide wishes. The showcase was meant to bring Christmas into his heart, but all he saw was overcrowded commercialism. He turned away from the window to look at the various files piled high on his desk.

Work and more work. But that was fine with him. Just like other years, work will see him through the holidays. At least the last three years had not been too bad. The only reason why the Grinch wasn't out in full force for him then was that Connie had stayed behind to help ease the workload. It made the days leading up to Christmas bearable.

But as things were standing now, he didn't think Connie would working late alongside him this year.

Lately, her working pattern had changed. Oh, she came in, worked hard and put in her hours, but by the time six o'clock arrived, she was already reaching for her thick coat and woolen scarf. And then with flurry of warm farewells and a bright smile, she was gone.

Mike went and sat at his desk while his eyes wandered across to her office.

She had left hours ago, but he missed her presence. He stared at her empty desk now, wondering what has been making her so excited to leave lately. He never asked her directly, because frankly, it was none of his business. Still, he hoped her leaving earlier than usual was just due to the holiday season and that she would begin working late again once the festivities were over.

Just having her in the same room with him made his day brighter.

Buzzzzzzz! Buzzzzzzz!

The irritating buzzing from his Blackberry interrupted his private thoughts. He looked at the screen, his heart lurching at the chance that it might be her. No such luck. It was Lupo.

"Cutter." Mike identified himself. He hadn't realized how exhausted he sounded until he actually heard his own voice spoken out loud.

"Mike, it's Cyrus," Lupo's sighed loudly through the speaker, sounding just as tired, "looks like the Central Park Strangler struck again."

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When Mike had arrived at the crime scene, he was grateful that at least it had stopped snowing.

A specific area had been condoned off with yellow crime scene tape, highlighting the area where the dead body had fallen. The foreboding place was the perfect spot for a murder. The ground was blanketed with snow and the night air seemed particularly cold and dreary in this isolated section of Central Park. Darkness surrounded the entire area with the only brightness coming from a lone park-light above and the police vehicles' flashing lights.

Murmurings could be heard as police milled about, not happy to be spending their holiday investigating a murder.

Already allowed past the yellow crime scene tape, Mike now stood on a slushy iced area next to a jogging path. His wool coat was buttoned all the way up, his collar pulled up, an official DA's badge pinned near his lapel. He didn't frequent a crime scene often, but sometimes it helped if a legal expert were present on more high-profile cases to insure the investigation was on the up and up.

He gravely viewed the dead body and didn't look up, even when he heard two sets of footsteps approaching.

"A Merry Christmas to you, Mike," Lupo dispassionately said, as he and Bernard came up and stood beside him.

"Detectives," Mike greeted them, "not the warmest of nights to be out."

When he spoke he saw puffs of cold air coming from his mouth. Lupo cupped his hands together in order warm his hands.

"Yeah, but we're still warmer than _her_," he indicated with his head at the dead body on the ground.

The victim was a young woman, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. As the coroner examined the frigid body, Mike stared at the dead woman's face. Her mouth was opened in a silent, frozen scream. Her white zipped jacket melded against the backdrop of the white snow. She was wearing black Lycra jogging pants that showed off her long, muscled legs.

Bernard spoke out, "We haven't identified the victim yet, but as you can see, she had obviously been jogging when she was attacked."

"I can see that," Mike said, a sadness in his tone. He tore his eyes away from the body to look at the detectives, "the other two victims had been joggers, too."

"_And_ just like the others..." added Lupo, "she'd been strangled."

"Who called it in?" Mike questioned.

"Anonymous," Lupo responded.

Bernard gave a quick look around, as if he were looking for someone else to show up, "You come by yourself, Mike? Where's Connie?"

Mike shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, "Who knows? Home, perhaps. Seems she wants to join the human race and work regular hours."

"Hmmph!" Bernard guffawed implausibly, "that certainly doesn't sound like her."

"Actually, the way I hear it, she's probably not home and definitely not alone," Lupo commented.

Bernard looked at his partner, "Oh yeah? What makes you say that?"

"I'm no gossip-monger" Lupo claimed, "but according to Jenny, Connie is being squired around town by some hot-shot, rich guy."

"Good for her!" Bernard encouraged, "it sure beats looking at dead bodies in the dead of the night!"

Mike bit his lower lip as he absorbed every word. As always, he would keep personal thoughts close to his heart. Instead he would change the subject by continuing with the investigation.

"_So,_ any indication regarding the time of death?" he asked.

Not the smoothest transitions, but it got the detectives back on track.

"Well, according to the coroner who just left," Lupo explained, "her torso temperature had been slightly more elevated than her arms and legs. Rodgers estimated the time of death to be no longer than three hours ago..." He then indicated the marks on the victim's neck, "...and it wasn't a peaceful death, either."

"It never is," Bernard commented as he turned to Mike, "Like the other two victims, she had been attacked from behind."

Lupo pointed to the nearby bushes, "According to the track marks, we figured the perp hid in those bushes over there. Then when the victim ran past him on the path, he tackled her, pinned her to the ground and then viciously strangled her."

This time when Mike looked down, he purposely eyed the dead woman's feet, "...and afterwards. like the others, the killer took her left shoe."

"Trophies," Lupo murmured disgustedly, "as if killing her weren't enough."

This was definitely the handiwork of the Central Park Strangler.

"Hey, take a look at this, you two..." Bernard bent down and took a look at the right shoe, which was still on the woman's foot, "...this running shoe looks relatively new," he announced, "the sole shows hardly any wear, the leather is barely creased."

"Was it the same for the other two murdered joggers?" Mike asked, "had their shoes been fairly new?"

Bernard stood up, "Pretty much. And that may work to our favor. If all three bought their shoes recently, maybe those stores will have a records of their purchases," Bernard looked down sadly at the body, "And regarding this Jane Doe, I'll have some of the officers canvas the neighborhood for witnesses."

"You do that," Lupo had closed his notepad, "Meanwhile, I'm going to head back to the office and check missing persons."

He turned and walked away.

"Hey! Wait up!" Bernard yelled over to Lupo, trekking quickly in the snow to catch up with him.

"_Why, B_," Lupo looked back teasingly exasperated at his partner " is it really necessary for us to be together at _all_ times?" he jested.

"It IS if I'm to be your _ride,_" Bernard joked back as he walked in tandem with his smiling partner.

Their voices and footsteps soon faded as they departed from the crime scene.

Mike adjusted his collar even higher as he felt the night air getting cooler. He looked down at the body laid out in the pristine snow and tried to view her with a professional detachment. But he couldn't. She was probably loved by many but had died with not a friend in sight. He was still present when the body was eventually covered and taken away. Soon the spectators scattered and were gone, while police officers left to file their reports.

He had no choice but to trudge back to his car in solitude, the lone street lamp providing his only source of light. Mike looked up at the sky when he felt snowflakes beginning to quietly drift down, dusting the shoulders of his wool coat.

It looked to be another Christmas spent alone.

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_Hello!_

_I'm so happy to be back! I've been busy writing for other sites, but no matter how much I love writing those stories, writing for Law and Order is like coming back home!_

_As you know, my hope for this show had been that Mike and Connie would have ended up together at the end. So here is another version of that love story, set against the backdrop of what I hope is an intriguing case. I've tried to stay canon with this story in that it was Mike who always held the feeling for Connie. But I'd also like to think that she, too, suppressed feelings for him, too. (who wouldn't LOL) Until now._

_So when it's cold outside, snuggle up in your fluffiest bathrobe in front of a warm fireplace while you sip hot cocoa as you read this. Hopefully, like me, this story will have you falling in love all over again!_

_Holiday hugs,_

_DaisyDay_

_(Please review!_:D)


	2. Chapter 2

A Judgment Call

Chapter 2

Daylight in New York City during Christmas time carried a whole different vibe than nighttime. The twinkling lights at night suddenly became vines of wires attached to colored bulbs, strung over artificially contrived decorations. At least that was Mike's interpretation as he walked the streets to work.

It was early morning, and as usual, he was the first one in.

As he entered his floor of the DA's building, Mike glanced over at the solitaire mini-Christmas tree tossed haphazardly on top of one of the file cabinets in the hallway. Jack had made it clear that this was a working office and any or all celebrations must be done after work. No parties; no Secret Santas. So the tiny tree was the only reminder in the office that this was the most wonderful time of the year. _Some_ reminder.

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Half an hour later, Mike was sitting at his desk, the office still devoid of morning workers. Since the Strangler file was in possession of the detectives, he spent his time studying the notes he had jotted down upon returning from the crime scene. Later today, he would meet up with the detectives to discuss the case. With the little information he possessed, he was wondering if these three women were chosen merely because they had been jogging at the wrong place at the wrong time or if the killer had purposely picked them out.

He heard the sound of the elevator doors opening and then the familiar clacking of heels and knew Connie was headed towards her office.

His heart started beating faster and he had to take a calming breath in. Keeping his head down at the paper in front of him, his ears were sharply attuned and he knew exactly when she entered her office and turned on her lights.

_Concentrate on the case,_ Cutter, he told himself, _it's just Connie... your colleague, the one you interact with every workday_. But despite what his head was thinking, his heart was not heeding. The words he tried to read in front of him swam before him like blurry lines. He heard her footsteps leave her office and his anticipation grew -until he heard her footsteps headed the other way.

_Stop acting like a lovesick schoolboy_. Clearing his head, he attempted once more to focus on his notes.

The latest victim from last night was blonde, probably in her twenties and almost six feet tall. According to what Lupo told him, the first victim had been brunette, thirties and stocky while the second had been Asian, forties and petite. He was looking through the notes, trying to find the exact ages of all the victims so that-

"Good morning, Mike!"

Ten minutes later, she was here at his doorway. He instantly lifted his head. A deep warmth permeated through him as he watched her standing there, holding two mugs of coffee. Mike nodded at her presence.

"Connie," Mike greeted her with a genuine smile on his lips.

"Lovely morning, isn't it? Thought you might like a cup of joe to begin your day," she said brightly as she came in and placed the mug on his desk. When she leaned over, he gleaned a whiff of her perfume. It was pleasant, soft and feminine, just like her.

Mike gratefully acknowledged her gracious gesture, "Thanks, it's exactly what I needed."

She then sat opposite him in the visitor's chair and Mike couldn't help noticing how lovely and refreshed she always looked in the morning.

"Don't you just love Christmastime?" she randomly asked him, unusually cheery this morning.

"Christmas and I don't mix, remember, Connie?" he sounded cynical as he took a sip of his coffee, "You, of all people, should know that about me. In fact, I hear through the water cooler gossip that I am officially known as the Office Scrooge."

She smiled lightly and didn't deny it.

"Well, you know what they say about gossip..."

Mike looked at her questionably, "What's that?"

"If you don't have anything nice to say about someone," she had a mischievous glint in her eyes before she continued, "...come sit next to me!"

They both laughed. It was a wonderful way to start a morning.

"So what are you working on?" she inquired.

Mike took a sip of his coffee, it tasted perfect, "The Central Park Strangler case," he told her, "Jack's been really riding the detectives hard about solving the Strangler case. He, like everyone else, wants to find the killer before he strikes again."

"Thanks for preparing me about Jack's mood," Connie said before also tasting her coffee, "at least I know his grumpiness isn't due to getting up on the wrong side of the bed."

"You mean he gets up on the wrong side of _life_." deadpanned Mike as Connie smiled, "especially when he hears about the latest victim."

"Oh?," she had a look of dread on her face, "Last _night_? Another body turned up?"

"Yes, regrettably," Mike verified, "I had been hoping the killer would take a break during the Christmas holiday, but of course, we wouldn't be so lucky."

She nodded solemnly, "Same MO as the other victims?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, it was ...down to the missing left shoe," he informed her.

He then proceeded to update her about the latest victim as Connie's expression darkened. Then afterwards, he presented his theory to her that these killings might not have been as random as the authorities suspected.

Connie listened closely, "So you think these three women were picked by the killer for a specific reason?" she asked.

"The detectives aren't officially saying that," Mike said, "but my gut tells me that all three victims have something in common that we're missing."

"If memory serves me correctly regarding the first two victims," recalled Connie," there didn't seem to be any connection between them, outside of the missing shoe. One was married; the other single. They've never crossed paths. And neither did they live in the same part of the city, nor did they work in the same professions."

Mike was in deep thought, "There HAS to be a pattern, Connie. I _feel_ it."

"Not everything in life has a pattern, Mike," she told him, "sometimes life is messy. Unexpected."

Could she be referring to something else? Mike assessed her expression, searching for a double meaning. Her eyes were alert but neutral.

Although he harbored feelings for Connie, he knew not to get involved with a colleague. Plus it was obvious from the way she interacted with him that she wanted to maintain a professional facade; that she saw him as nothing more than her boss. Yet, there were moments,_ fleeting though they may be,_ where there seemed to be a spark flying between them. It might be a few choice words, or a quick gesture, but then it would quickly dissipate and it left him wondering if he had been mistaken.

He focused again on the case, "I think the key is the missing left shoe from each of the victims. The killer had obviously taken them as trophies, but maybe there is more to that than we had originally thought. Do you know what brand tennis shoe the first two victims were wearing?"

Connie shook her head, "I don't know offhand, Mike, but I could easily look it up."

"Maybe _that's_ the connection," Mike suggested.

"That he's a name brand killer?" she questioned, half joking.

"Who knows _what_ kind of crazy he is?" Mike said, "but it's a theory worth exploring. Last night I noticed that when I saw the third victim's body, she had been wearing Nikes."

Connie's expression changed into one of surprise.

"Wait... Mike," she had paused hesitantly, thinking it through, "You _saw _the dead body yesterday night at Central Park?"

"The detectives got the call at around 9 last night and I went to the crime scene to make sure all procedures were legally handled correctly," he casually told her, "why?"

She didn't look pleased, " So...you went there last night and didn't even _think _to call me in order that I could be there , too?"

"You left the office early last night," Mike said pointedly.

Connie looked slightly disconcerted, "Mike, leaving at 6 pm is _not_ considered late! Especially since I started work at 6 _am_ that same day!"

"Okay, you're right, " he backed down, trying to be diplomatic, "what I am trying to say, Connie, is that I assumed you had something uh_, special_ you wanted to do and I didn't want to take you away from that."

"I never indicated that I was heading anywhere special last night, did I?" she questioned him, "you could have at least informed me as to the latest discovery and then give _me_ the option of deciding whether or not I wanted to go to the crime scene. This is a high profile case and I would appreciate not being kept out of the loop, Mike."

Mile let out a frustrated sigh. How had a cheery morning turned into this? Even though Connie sounded irritated, she had no reason to blame it on him. He was, after all, her boss!

"If you were out of the loop, Connie," he told her, "we wouldn't be talking about this at all. But we _are _discussing this because you are definitely an integral part of this case. In case you've forgotten, _I am your boss,_ so I made a judgement call. No further talk required."

Connie hated how at times Mike insisted they were equal working colleagues but then he would pull rank when it was convenient for_ him._

"No, I haven't forgotten that you're my boss, Mike," she began slowly, "but it would just be nice if next time you would-" she never finished her thought, however, for her attention was suddenly diverted by an individual walking down the aisle.

Coming down the hallway was the office secretary, leading a delivery man past all the windowed offices. The delivery man held in front of him a huge bouquet of lovely red roses. Now they both watched as the secretary directed him into Connie's office and he placed it on her desk.

Turning his head, back to Connie, Mike watched as her eyes lit up and her lips curved into a smile. He half expected her to clap her hands. Instead she bounded out of her seat.

"...excuse me, Mike..." she told him almost absentmindedly as she headed to her office.

Looking through the window into her office, Mike observed her speaking briefly to the delivery person before giving him a tip. After the man left, she searched frantically for the card hidden among the flowers. Upon discovery, she removed it from its tiny envelope and read it. Midway through, her hand touched her throat lovingly as a smile spread on her face. Then she turned her attention to the roses, tenderly touching the petals.

Scowling, Mike's heart fell a little at what he just witness. The guy who sent those flowers was definitely making all the right moves, whereas Mike had spent half the morning making Connie frustrated by playing the power game with her, ruining _both_ their mornings.

Dismally shaking his head, he could only blame himself.

He blew it _again_ with Connie.

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_Thank you for all the reviews/well-wishes! You've made me happy to be back!_

_Please review_


	3. Chapter 3

Making a Connection

Chapter 3

_Connie thought it was romantic how she had met Gregory Kensington._

_She had gone to the skating rink in Rockefeller Center with her sister. The rink, like everywhere else in the city, was festooned with Christmas decorations as holiday music blared from its speakers. Skaters glided by her from all sides of the tiny rink skated in unity around the rink and Connie and her sister had decided to join in on the fun, too. While making one of the turns, Connie had cut it too sharp. Her skates slipped from underneath her, and she fell hard onto the ice, landing on her bottom as other skaters past by her._

_More embarrassed than hurt, she was about to help herself up when, from her peripheral view, she saw a male hand reach out._

_"Here, let me help you," the helpful voice announced._

_As Connie looked up, she was staring into gorgeous green eyes. In gratitude, she held onto his hand as he eased her up._

_"Thanks," Connie said, a blush appearing on her cheeks, "I guess I wasn't as good a skater as I thought."_

_"Everyone falls," he told her with a friendly smile, "even the best of them."_

_When she smiled back at him, she was struck by the intelligence of his face._

_"Thanks for that comment, too," she added._

_As people skated around them, Gregory and Connie introduced themselves and soon they were skating together. Which led to coffee together. Which led to dinner together. And then it was a whirlwind of seeing each other almost every day for two weeks._

_For Connie, it seemed like a Christmas dream come true._

_._

Cafe Boulud is located inside the renowned Surrey Hotel. The posh restaurant has been an uptown mainstay for over a decade with its casually elegant ambiance. This was the latest of the many meals Gregory and Connie had shared. She was especially impressed how expertly Gregory spoke French when ordering. They were in the middle of their meal.

"This seared foie grae is divine," Connie told him, "I'm glad you recommended it."

Gregory lifted his wine and swirled it a bit before taking a sip, "I wanted to treat you to something special, especially after the day you've had."

Connie watched his face intently, "How did you know I was feeling stressed?"

"With the time we've spent together, how could I not?" he asked, "Care to talk about it?"

She looked down and smile. It was so nice to have someone so attuned to her feelings. She told him she was working on the Central Park Strangler case, although, of course, she couldn't give any details about the ongoing investigation.

"...so in conclusion, I guess my feelings were just a little hurt that I wasn't called onto the crime scene," she told him, "I know I shouldn't be, but-"

Gregory didn't need to hear the rest of the story. He concernedly placed his hand over hers and squeezed it, "You have every right to be upset," he assuredly told her, "and selfishly, I'm glad you didn't get a call that night because it allowed us to spend the night together without any interruption."

She smiled. He understood her feelings. He understood her. He was perfect.

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It was the next day and it had been a grueling day in court for Mike and Connie on a different case. The jury had rendered its decision and the defendant had been acquitted on all charges, meaning another loss for the prosecution. Even though it was towards the end of the day, they both decided to head out for the 2-7 in hopes of garnering some new information regarding the Central Park Strangler.

From the passenger side of car, Connie eyed Mike intently.

"You sure you're okay going to the precinct?" she asked concernedly, "You've already had a pretty rough day."

"You mean the loss?" Mike inquired. He put his foot on the brakes. The traffic was stop and go. There seemed to be double the amount of taxis and buses, "Sure," he agreed, "a loss is always hard to take, but it's not nearly as annoying as all this holiday traffic! Christmas can be a real headache!"

Mike was sounding irritated and tired.

"I'm surprised you just don't add a _'bah-humbug_!' to the end of your complaint," Connie said sardonically.

He half smiled, appreciating that she was trying to add some levity to the situation.

"I would," Mike told her, "except I don't know what 'humbug' means!"

She smiled, "Maybe you're cranky during Christmastime because as a child, Santa put coals in your shoes instead of a present."

"Maybe," Mike admitted as he inched his car forward,, "and that could also explain why my mom used to say I was _Claustrophobic," _he deadpanned.

She laughed, and so did he. It felt good to laugh. Especially after losing a case and then getting stuck in heavy traffic.

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"Tell me you've found a connection between the three victims," Mike inquired of the two detectives, the minute he and Connie arrived at the 2-7.

"And a happy hello to you, too," Bernard said sarcastically, "I hope the reason why you offer no greeting and seem to be in a rush is because you've been obsessed with thinking of a present for me," he joked to Mike.

"Oh, yes, Detective," Mike joked back, "and after spending a considerable time thinking about that special present for you, I've come to the startling conclusion that I know absolutely nothing about you, and don't care to."

Bernard looked up, a huge smile on his face, as Lupo and Connie also exchanged grins.

"Let _me_ be the one to shower you two with happy holiday greetings, detectives!" Connie cheerfully said, "You'll have to excuse Mike. He's been like this all day with me, too. Mr. Christmas here is all about the case."

"Well, we do have a killer loose in the city," Mike said, getting back to business, "and thus far, we have no suspects."

"Relax, Mike," Lupo told him, "we _are_ making headway on the case, you know. The latest victim has been identified, so we now have the names of all the victims."

"But we need the name of the _killer _and _soon,_ so that Connie and I can do _our_ jobs,_"_ Mike reminded them.

"_Mike.._." Connie gave him a chiding look," the detectives know how to do their jobs..._"_

Lupo showed them a paper, "As you can see, I _have_ been busy making calls. I was hoping that maybe the victims had purchased their running shoes all from the same store."

"_And_?" Mike asked, high with anticipation.

"No such luck," Bernard continued, "in fact, we couldn't find _any _running shoe purchases on the credit card statements from _any_ of the victims."

Connie lifted a brow, "No records on any of the purchases? How strange. All three must have paid cash."

"That's what we figured," Bernard told her, "and it also makes our job more difficult. So we showed the victims' pictures to any local stores that might sell running shoes. None of them recognized these women. So we're back to square one."

"Have you checked the stores surrounding New York City?" Mike asked.

Lupo gave a frustrated sigh, "Mike, I know you're trying to find a connection, but how wide of a scope should our search be for checking shoe merchants? Should we now proceed to neighboring _states? _Then head out to the Midwest? And _then_ what? We don't have the time or the resources. For now, let's just chalk up these killings as random picks by the Strangler."

"Detectives, we're not here to tell you two how to investigate," Mike tried to keep his voice even, "but we need to find this guy. The whole city is being held captive by this Central Park killer."

"You don't think we know that?" challenged Lupo, "this case is not exactly getting me in a festive mood, either."

The phone rang, and just in time. Lupo reached over to answer it.

"Yeah, Detective Lupo here," they heard him say. He listened for a bit, and then his face fell, "Yeah, okay, we'll be right there." He hung up and looked over at Bernard. "There's been a hold-up at Lee's Liquor Store on seventh," he told his partner, "they got away with about $250 in cash and shot the owner dead."

Bernard groaned, "...Couldn't just take the money and run, could they?" he got up and grabbed his coat.

Connie looked surprised, "You two are leaving in the middle of all this? Couldn't they send other detectives on that case?"

"If you've notice, Connie, there's a shortage of detectives and police during the holidays," Bernard told her as he nudged his head over to the side, "but don't worry; all the information you'll need on the case could be found in that room over there."

Mike and Connie glanced over to where Bernard had indicated.

The detectives had set up a makeshift 'crime board' in one of the nearby conference rooms. It was a whiteboard with the victim's pictures along with any information, all organized so that one could get the entire picture of the case all at one glance.

A young male, no older than college age, was now pinning the photos of the shoes recovered from the right foot of each victim. He was very tall and lanky, like a basketball player.

"Who's the tall elf helping you with the board in there?" she questioned.

Lupo guffawed, "That tall elf? He's an intern, actually. Usually all they do is get coffee, but we decided to put him to work setting up this board. That's his Christmas present from us. Everyone deserves a break from the humdrum of menial office work."

"Except us," Bernard responded, gesturing back to the stack of paperwork, "...but anyway, feel free to enjoy our pride and joy," he said to Mike and Connie, pointing to the white board in the conference room.

"Yeah," Lupo said, putting his scarf around his neck, "Just be gentle with our baby." he lightheartedly warned them and then the detectives were gone.

Mike and Connie wandered into to the conference room and over to the board as the intern pinned the last shoe picture up. They identified themselves to the intern as they studied the board.

"Well, there goes the theory that all three victims wore the same name brand shoes," Mike told Connie, as he pointed to the pictures, "the brands are all different. Nike's, Addidas on this one, and Puma on the other one."

Connie looked more closely at the pictures, "The shoes here don't even have similar features. This one has air-pumps while the others do not. This other one has neon shoelaces. And look, only two of them are actual running shoes and the other is a cross-trainer. These shoes couldn't be more different. Not a thing in common."

"Except that they're old," the young intern casually commented to her.

_"What?_ Are you sure?" Connie did a double take at the pinned pictures, "All three pairs look relatively new here."

"Believe me, " the intern insisted, "those tennis shoes are _old._"

"I was actually at the crime scene of the third victim," Mike stated, pointing to the picture of the latest victim's sneaker, "And her running shoe was definitely new. It was stark white and barely had a sign of a crease on the shoe."

The intern didn't look impressed.

"Yes, they are new in _wearability,_ but _style-wise_, they are _old,_" he said, as he pointed to each one, "The styles of these particular shoes have been out of production for a time. Last season, or I'm guessing even last, last season. Whoever wore these shoes was either a penny pincher or a major geek."

Of course a young college student built like a basketball player would know about out-of-season tennis shoes. Mike and Connie exchanged hopeful looks.

Thanks to the young intern, they may have stumbled across a possible connection among the three victims in the Strangler case.

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	4. Chapter 4

Christmas Down on the Streets

Chapter 4

It was getting late. A coldness had swept the city when Mike and Connie left the 2-7. By now, evening had settled in. Despite the frigid temperature, New York City was in the mood to welcome the holidays. The city was busier, brighter and more embellished with colorful lights and decorations that put visitors, shoppers and locals in a festive mood.

And though Mike and Connie were not exactly in a festive mood, they were pumped up regarding the investigation.

Thanks to the young intern at the precinct, they have another clue as to how to proceed with the Central Park Strangler case. Lupo and Bernard were busy at the scene of a different crime, so Mike and Connie had decided to wait until morning to discuss their discovery with them. Meanwhile, they talked about the case between themselves.

"All three victims had purchased older style of shoes," Mike concludedd, as he walked Connie to his vehicle, "so, what does that tell us?"

"It tells us," Connie followed his train of thought, "that perhaps they didn't buy it at a major department or sporting goods store."

Mike agreed, his mind racing, "If that's true, we have to think outside the major stores. So what happens to shoes that _don't_ sell in the major stores? " he inquired, "these older styles have to go _somewhere_ in order for the stores to be able to stock the new season styles."

Connie shrugged, "I'm not sure. I'm usually not in the market for styles from last season's running shoes."

"Maybe they're shipped to outlet stores?" Mike wondered.

Connie looked doubtful, "Maybe...but I think outlet stores also accept credit cards."

"Okay, if not that..." Mike was in deep thought, " ...it would have to be the kind of store that insists on 'cash-only transactions."

As they continued to stroll, Connie could hear the sloshing of their feet on the already fallen snow. She hugged her coat tighter as the cool night air wrapped around them. Even in the evening light, she could see that Mike's eyes lit up with excitement that they were getting somewhere with the case.

"What we -or the detectives- need to do," he determined, "is go to every fly-by-night operation, every gypsy shoe seller in New York City and show them pictures of the victims."

"Mike, you know that will be an impossible feat."

"But one of those merchants must surely remember selling those particular shoes to the victims!" Mike was adamant.

"Or who knows?" Connie theorized, "one of the sellers could be the Strangler."

"Let's just hope we find him before he strikes again," Mike said morosely.

They were done discussing about the case. When he looked over at Connie, he thought she looked especially lovely tonight, all bundled up in warm clothing. Of course she looked nice; she was probably going out.

"Will you be having dinner with your date tonight?" he changed the subject, seemingly out of the blue.

Connie looked befuddled at his question. They had never talked about their personal lives.

She hesitated, "How did you know about Gregory?" she eyed him cautiously.

"I couldn't help noticing the bouquet he sent you yesterday," Mike worked hard at keeping the bitterness out of his voice. After all, it was obvious she was in a relationship and he was nothing more to her than a colleague.

"Actually, yes, we do plan to have dinner later tonight," she admitted.

Somehow it felt awkward telling that to him. She didn't understand why. Earlier she had off handedly mentioned having a dinner date to Jack and it had not bothered her in the least. Why would it be different with Mike?

Mike had expected she would be going out tonight, but it was still a punch in the stomach for him.

"That's nice, Connie," he said politely before adding sincerely, "It's good you have a life outside of the office."

"You're right; it _is _nice to have that balance," Connie stated, wanting to end this uneasy conversation with her boss as quickly as possible.

Lately she had been feeling unsettled by Mike's presence.

She hadn't known it was possible to experience so many different emotions all at once. One moment she's glad to be with Greg, wining and dining to her heart's content and the next moment she's wanting to be at work, challenging herself and putting up with the unpredictability of Mike. And his stubbornness. And his laughter. And his smoldering blue eyes.

She gave a quick sideways glance at him. He looked as determined yet vulnerable as always. She had known him for three years and he had always possessed a self-contained quality, a tremendous energy held in check. At the same time, he had a distinctly remote air, as if he were not quite part of a gathering even though he was mingling among them. Yet he seemed comfortable with his quality of aloneness. And she admired him for it.

She could deal with all of that, but why lately was he the cause of making her blush warmly and her heart beat faster? Why _Mike_, of all people?

They walked in silence in the snowy sidewalk for awhile. The city was covered in a blanket of ice as a slight wind whispered through the lit trees. It was a comforting feeling as their feet sloshed through the snow.

They had reached his car and Connie went to the other side of the car. As she stood next to the passenger side door, she was pleased that Mike's spirits had lifted. She watched him from across the car's roof as he inserted the key into the driver side of his door.

A faint light from a lone lamplight above hit across half his face, while the other half of his face was in shadow. Somehow it made him appear mysterious...and almost dashing. Funny how she never thought of him in quite that way before. Tonight she saw him differently. It might be because of the way his hair gleamed in the light or the way the blue intensity of his eyes had earlier watched her as they were walking. There was just something...

Then unexpectedly, from across the length of the car's rooftop, he happened to look up.

And their eyes locked.

The air took on a suspended sensual tension as he studied her as intently as she had been watching him. For an endless time, They were both held spellbound.

Mike was speechless at the way she was looking at him. Moonlight had turned her hair a rich smoky tint and her eyes seemed to captivate him, holding him to his spot. He wished right now he could read her mind and know what she was thinking of him.

All he knew was that since he's known Connie, her presence added a feminine softness to the world that he'd never known existed.

Though he was across the way on the other side of the vehicle, she felt his nearness and it made her heart start pounding frantically. After a long silence, Connie tore her gaze from him.

"You're not considering going back to the office to do some work, are you?" she asked as she looked off in the distance, her voice a gentle murmur in the cool night air.

He tried to appear casual, though his pulse raced at what had just occurred between them, "Surprisingly, no. I plan to go home and keep company with a glass of fine wine."

His words caused her to look back at him. His loneliness brought on a strange ache in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't bear the image of him alone in his apartment. After all, Connie had certainly known the feeling of emptiness before she met Gregory. She had a quick mental picture of Greg, but it faded so quickly from her mind that it felt more like a brief thought than an image.

She looked directly at him.

"Mike, I..." her voice squeaked slightly. She tried again, "It being so cold and all, I had planned to buy some cashmere gloves at Macy's tonight before I join Greg for dinner. Would you..." she cleared her throat, "would you care to accompany me? It's not the most exciting of errands, but I wouldn't mind some company myself."

She was telling herself she had asked him because she couldn't bear Mike being totally alone all night, but she was beginning to doubt that was the only reason why, due to that moment they had just shared.

A smile touched Mike lips, "I'd like that very much, Connie."

"Good," she responded with a cheery smile. She pushed aside any other ideas as to why she wanted Mike to accompany her. It was only so he wouldn't go home to a cold apartment, she told herself as they got into the car. It didn't mean anything.

He was, after all, her boss.

.

New York City's window displays are a traditional part of the city during the holidays. Every year the famous department stores decorate their storefront windows with scenes of Snowmen, Santas, and Sugarplum fairies.

A visual showcase of what Christmas means.

As Mike strolled with Connie down the busy department store streets, his Grinch-like heart melted as he took in display after display of magical Christmas themes in each window. Fairy lights seems to border each beautiful window display.

Connie couldn't help smiling at the way Mike carefully viewed each display with interest. He had lived in New York City most of his life, yet it was obvious he had never taken the time to witness Christmastime first hand from out of his office. From her point of view, this further validated the theory that he probably spent every Christmas day working.

At last they had reached Macy's. This storefront has two sets of Christmas window displays, one along 34th Street and the other along Broadway. Each year one window depicted scenes from the classic Christmas film 'Miracle on 34th Street and the second window would display a random theme for Christmas.

It was the second window display that stopped Mike in his tracks.

The theme was "A Boy's Christmas" and it featured the interior of a young boy's bedroom. The light had cast a blue tinge on the baseball-themed bedsheets. There was a matching Yankee lampshade on top of a nightstand. A mitt with a baseball laid on top of the bed with a bat leaning against one corner. Hanging on one wall was a black and white poster of Yankee legend Babe Ruth, taking a swing at bat while hordes of people in the stands cheered him on.

"I've always wanted a bedroom like this," he spoke so low, it was almost to himself, "...right down to the poster of Babe Ruth."

Connie was not even looking at the baseball-themed display window. She leaned her side against the wall of the store and watched him with a flicker of amusement, a curved smile on her lips. Mike's joyful reaction was contagious.

"It must be fulfilling to see that you were not the only kid who dreamed of baseball. It was a different time, then," she commented, encouraging him to say more.

"It was," he agreed, "a much simpler time. A talent with a mitt, a bat and a baseball was all that was required to create a hero for boys like me," Mike had a faraway look as he continued, "I remembered I had memorized all the stats of the great ones -Reggie, Mantle, DiMaggio, the Babe, and others. They were like the game's DNA."

It explained his love for his baseball memorabilia in his office.

"Never lose that feeling, Mike," Connie stated, unable to look away from him.

When he turned away from the window display to face her, Connie's heart gave an extra thump at the way his eyes were filled with gratitude.

"Thank you, Connie, for this amazing memory."

She felt a lump in her throat, happy that she had helped to indulge him in one of his boyhood fantasies. Off in the distance, they then heard the sounds of singing coming from behind them and they turned around at the approaching group of Victorian- dressed people. Connie could not believe her luck.

"Oh! Mike!" she told him excitedly, "Looks like some Christmas carolers are headed our way!"

Sure enough, the group stopped directly in front of Macy's as a small gathering of people surrounded them, including Mike and Connie. She watched as Mike quietly enjoyed the singing spectacle. The three women and two men sang the traditional song in acapella:

_City sidewalks busy sidewalks_  
_Dressed in holiday style_  
_In the air_  
_There's a feeling_  
_of Christmas_  
_Children laughing_  
_People passing_  
_Meeting smile after smile_  
_And on every street corner you'll hear_

_Silver bells silver bells_  
_It's Christmas time in the city_  
_Ring a ling hear them ring_  
_Soon it will be Christmas day_

The carolers' voices blended perfectly together, serenading the city with a message of hope and joy. Mike stood silently, his eyes wide as a child's. And as Connie watched Mike's wonderment, she, too, experienced Christmas as if it were the first time for her.

.

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	5. Chapter 5

The Christmas Sprit

Chapter 5

After Mike dropped Connie off at her car, she went to meet up with Greg for dinner.

The posh Italian restaurant, Del Posto, is located on a wind-swept corner in Chelsea. Although rather nondescript on the outside, the interior was plush, its palazzo filled with marble and mahogany furnishings. Their coats had been checked in and after the greetings, They were shown to their table. After Connie was seated, she attempted to remove her gloves.

"Those are nice," Greg said, referring to her soft pink cashmere gloves, "Are they new?"

"Yes," Connie looked pleased, "I bought them at Macy's with Mike's help, just before I got here, which is why I was slightly late."

Greg looked sideways at her with uncertainty, "Mike? You mean your _boss?_"

Strange that she had been thinking about Mike and then had inadvertently let his name slip out.

"Well, yes..." she felt she was fumbling around, as a blush rose, "he was the one who drove me to the precinct earlier this afternoon, so afterwards, we just made a fast stop at Macy's before he drove me back to my car at work and I came here," she tried to make it sound as casual as possible but instead, she heard herself rambling.

Greg did not look happy.

Luckily the menus came and they could change the subject. As she looked at the menu, she felt slightly overwhelmed by the choices, especially since parts of the descriptions had been worded in Italian.

She ended up ordering the Pumpkin Cappellacci with brown butter and brutti ma buoni (whatever that was) while Greg ordered the Pork and Veal Agnolotii with sugo finto, edamame and chanterelle roast.

After the menus were taken away by the waiter, Connie sat back to relax. Even though the restaurant's ambiance was exceptional and she had earlier looked forward to seeing Greg, her mind kept going back earlier to her time with the store window, the carolers, and especially Mike. She tried to erase it from her mind, but his simple joy was contagious and it made her heart unexpectedly flutter with happiness.

"Connie?" Greg watched her from across the table.

"Hmmm?" Connie now attempted to focus on her date sitting across from her. Why couldn't she keep her mind on Greg?

His handsome face smiled over at her.

"I have something for you," he said. From his pocket he displayed his surprise, "I scored two tickets for the Lincoln Center tomorrow night! Looks like we'll be seeing the New York Ballet Company performing _The Nutcracker_ after all!"

Connie stumbled slightly, "That's...wonderful!"

He noticed her hesitancy, "I'm not sure that is a sincere endorsement. You _do_ want to go, don't you? After all, we've been talking about it for about a week."

"Why, yes, of course..." Connie agreed, as the waiter presented the wine and a basket of breads. After the tasting and acceptance of the wine, the waiter departed and she continued her conversation, "I _do_ want to go..." her eyes looked ruefully at him, "it's just... there may be a time conflict...the case is really moving along now..."

"You mean, that Strangler case?" Greg asked, sounding flustered, "but isn't that still in the investigative stage? Why are you involved so early with it?"

Connie didn't know exactly how to explain it to him.

"Greg, it's just...this is a high profile case which means it is under close scrutiny by _everyone_. It's therefore, advantageous for the prosecution to be involved in all aspects of the investigation, from beginning to the end," she hoped that would be enough to appease him.

He stuck out his lower lip like a pout, "Can't your boss, this Mike person, do without you for one night?"

"I'm sure he _can_," she said, "but it's not _him_ that's being insistent. I'm the one who really wants to stay involved," then she added to Mike's defense, "Mike has actually been very understanding about...us. He even insisted that I shouldn't have to stay late at work, that I deserve a life outside of my job. He's a very fair boss."

"Big _deal,_" Greg said sarcastically, "You _shouldn't_ be expected to work over 12 hours a day."

"But if I'm not there, it means _he_ has to work harder," she defended him further, "yet he's never complain...Mike's been nothing but supportive."

Greg narrowed his eyes, "You certainly talk about your boss a lot..."

Her cheeks suffused with heat.

"I do not!" Connie answered a little too quickly.

Greg watched her carefully, "Is there something between you two?"

Connie could feel herself blushing down to her toes.

"He's...my boss, Greg. so naturally, I spend the most time together with him in the office, is all."

She still could not look at him, although she felt Greg relax a little.

"Good. I didn't _think_ my charm was wearing thin yet," He sounded confident.

Connie didn't have an answer to that. Instead, she took a sip of her wine.

_"Anyway,_" she said, as she placed her glass down, "enough about me. Tell me about your day."

Greg certainly didn't mind the change in subjects at all. He told her about his latest business acquisition. She asked questions and soon they felt comfortable around each other once again.

In the middle of their talk, their dishes had arrived. Connie stared at the plate placed directly in front of her. The presentation of the pumpkin pasta was arranged artfully, topped with fresh sage leaves and Pecorino Romano cheese. Yet the elaborately prepared dish made Connie's stomach slightly queasy.

"What do you think?" Greg asked, regarding the dish.

Connie was intent on not spoiling the night.

"It looks delicious, Greg," she forced a smile as she looked down at her fancy plate.

But her mind drifted, wanting more than ever to sit in a dimly lit office while dining on greasy Chinese food out of white food-to-go cartons and discussing cases. It seemed so long ago now. And she missed it.

_It_ or _him?_

.

The next morning an immense cold front moved through the city, as a blustery wind blew. The wind chills sent temperatures plummeting to the 20's at night, but luckily it came back up to the 40's by the early morning. Typical New York City holiday weather.

It was early morning when Mike arrived at the DA's office, his heavy coat buttoned all the way up. Yet despite the coldness of the hour, he found himself humming. It took a while before he realized that the song he had been humming was, "Silver Bells." Somehow, he couldn't get the song out of his mind and it didn't bother him.

For the first time in his life, he was beginning to understand the joy of Christmas. As he walked past one of the main file cabinets in the hallway, he paused at the lone tiny Christmas tree that stood forlornly on top of it.

_Even the smallest of Christmas trees deserve some dignity,_ he thought to himself.

He then reached into his briefcase, and like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, Mike retrieved a tiny silver star he had bought at a local five and ten store this morning and placed it on top of the tree. He stood back and admired his handiwork.

_Merry Christmas, little tree,_ he thought to himself, glad no one was present to witness his sentimentality.

.

Two hours later, the office was brimming with workers and business proceeded as usual. Connie was sitting at her desk, reading a file. She couldn't think of a reason to visit Mike, so throughout the morning she would give quick looks over at his office,hoping to get a glance at him. He had been in conference with Jack for most of the morning and she saw him taking a couple of calls.

Why am I so distracted by him? she wondered.

Still, she couldn't help it. When she made a covert glance, she noticed he was not in his office. Leaning sideways, she tried to determined if he was perhaps in another area of his office or out in the hallway. When had she missed him leaving? There was no indication as to where he had gone.

"Hi!"

Like a stealth cat, Mike was suddenly at the doorway of her office, holding two steaming mugs, "I figured turnaround is fair play," he said as he placed the two mugs on her desk. She returned his smile and couldn't help noticing a deep dimple that appeared on the side of his face. Goosebumps ran up her back. Funny, she never had that reaction before.

"Thanks, Mike," she said as she lifted the mug. Just before she brought the steaming mug to her lips, she paused and looked into the mug.

"This isn't coffee," she announced to him, showing her mug to him.

"I didn't say it was, " he said, "in fact, it's hot cocoa..."

"Oh?" Connie seemed pleased by the change, "Even better!"

" _and_ " he continued teasingly, "it's not just ANY hot cocoa..."

"Really?" She familiarly lifted one brow, " and what makes _this_ cocoa so special?"

"It's been brewed by the Marshmallow Elves," he responded, a gleam in his eyes.

Giving a quick glance in her cup, she noted the three small puffs of marshmallows added in her drink.

"Well, would you look at that!" she brightened even more.

Mike was pleased over her obvious delight. He was not going to fool himself into thinking that Connie held feelings for him. She seemed to be in a class above him. And besides, she was already in a relationship with what seemed to be the perfect man. Mike had kept his ears opened enough to hear that "Greg" was a successful investor and was actually featured in a magazine article two years ago as one of the top 20 most eligible bachelors in New York City.

How could Mike ever compete with that?

No, he would keep it professional with Connie and just enjoy her company. For three years he had convinced himself it would be enough.

"MMmm," She took a sip. The delicious hot drink seeped through her, warming her insides, "These Marshmallow Elves obviously know something the Angeleno Elves don't," she declared, taking delight in the drink.

Sharing cocoa together on a frigid day made them feel as though was like they were the only two people in the world, instead of in the middle of a busy office. He had always enjoyed their bantering, but it seemed to take a deeper meaning ever since last night. He'd better be careful, however, for he needed to protect his dignity, and most of all, his heart.

Mike took a sip of his hot cocoa, "I heard Lupo and Bernard caught the suspect from last night's liquor store homicide?"

She acknowledged, "Yes. The alleged killer unfortunately turned out to be the wife."

"His wife?" Mike looked stunned "So her identification of robbers had been a ruse?"

"Exactly. I'll let you read the file later. I'm due in arraignment court in an hour."

He nodded and forced himself to stand, Then I'll let you get on with it." he said as he headed for the door.

Connie was actually surprised that she felt disappointment over his leaving, "oh, wait.. Mike?"

He turned back around, "Yes, Connie?"

She lifted her mug with gratitude, "Thanks."

.

As Connie left her office on her way to arraignment court, she walked with purpose down the long hallway, passing a few colleagues. Up ahead, she saw the lone Christmas tree sitting on the file cabinet, a newly placed sparkly star shown on the upmost part of the tree. She slowed her steps to get a closer look. The star had not been there yesterday.

Jamie, one of the office workers, walked by.

"Hey, Connie," she greeted her. She noticed Connie staring at the tree, "Cute star, eh? I don't remember noticing it before and I was the second one in the office this morning. I wonder who could be our secret elf."

A smile slowly appeared on Connie's face for she knew who had decorated their little office Christmas tree.

_Mike._

_._

_._

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	6. Chapter 6

Realizations

Chapter 6

The wind chill was gone as snow flurries drifted down the city of New York. It would be a lovely Christmas. Deciding to take the long way back from the courthouse, Connie drove past the Rockefeller Center where there stood an enormous decorated 70 foot spruce tree that towered over the center. It now had the distinction of being the official Rockefeller Christmas tree, brightly decorated and topped with a Swarovski star.

It definitely made her more excited about Christmas.

Connie had returned from arraignment court faster than anticipated. It seemed as though the case would go very quickly since the wife had confessed to killing her husband as he worked the counter at the liquor store.

Walking down the hallway with a file in her hand, her pulse seemed to quicken in anticipation of seeing Mike, her reaction surprising her. Why was it that lately, whenever she was in her office, she was covertly attempting to get glimpses of him? And then when they were in the same room together, she seemed to have a visceral reaction to his presence?

What was wrong with her?

She took a deep breath in before she entered his office. With all the craziness of a busy district attorney's office, he was there in solitude at his desk, his head down, his shirt sleeves rolled up, studying a file. He seemed wrapped up in his own little world.

As she leaned against the doorway and solemnly watched him, she thought he was such an enigmatic person. He was vocal in his ideals but private with his thoughts. Just at that moment Mike chose to unexpectedly looked up and something caught in her throat at the way his eyes were so full and deep. Quietly he put the pen down.

"Hey, " he greeted, asking about the liquor store robbery case that Lupo and Bernard had investigated, "how did Karen Carson's arraignment go?"

Connie tried to act as casual as she could. One way to show that was to sit nonchalantly on Mike's desk, something she had done a million times before. The instant she hopped on, however, she regretted it. Stange flutterings began inside of her. Funny how it's only been lately and only when she was near Mike.

"The arraignment went better than expected," she answered, fighting to sound normal, "after court, Mrs. Carson's attorney approached me. I think he's ready for a deal."

She placed the Carson file on his desk and used her hand to shove it across the desk over to him, keeping her hand planted on the file. Midway through her pushing the folder his way, however, his hand had reached out to retrieve the file. But instead, his hand accidentally grazed hers. A sizzle of electricity coursed through both their bodies.

They froze for a moment, both seemingly trying to keep emotions under control.

Then Mike did something totally out of character.

Instead of clumsily withdrawing his hand, he instead brazenly placed his hand over hers, enveloping it in his. Connie's hand didn't move. They both looked down and stared at their overlapped hands. They were so physically close now, with only a couple of breaths seemingly separating them. The world appeared to have stood still. No one breathed.

Judging by her expression, Mike knew the contact had unsettled her as much as him. She didn't move, she didn't blink. So the look they had exchanged the other day wasn't a fluke, he thought optimistically, it wasn't a misinterpretation. And when he finally had to nerve to look up at her and she met his gaze, he caught a look of yearning simmering in her eyes. Encouraged, he began to caress her hand, loving the feeling of her softness.

Connie knew her hand wasn't the nicely-lotioned, neatly-manicured hand of a lady of leisure. It was the first time she regretted having handled so many files and papers. She withdrew her hand from underneath his.

"Please don't, Mike," she said, folding her hands in her lap while averting his eyes.

Mike had come so close to telling her how he felt. That all the tiny details about her that no one else noticed seemed fascinating and incredible to him. Oh how hard he had to work at distancing himself from her, and not only because she was a co-worker, but because he believed she could never feel for him what he felt for her.

"I should say sorry." Mike said quietly, as he looked directly at her, "but I'm not."

Her heart caught. It was the closest he ever came to admitting his attraction regarding her. So many thoughts were flying through Connie's mind at this moment that she couldn't distinguish one from the other. When she looked back at him, his eyes had turned a soft blue, the color of a perfect spring sky.

Connie felt her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst. She didn't know what to say, but something needed to be said. She opened her mouth and...

Jack's booming voice came from the opened doorway.

"How's the liquor store robbery case going?"

There was no telling how long Jack had been standing there. Connie awkwardly stood up, working hard to straighten her skirt. Mike was the first to speak.

"The Karen Carson case?" he questioned Jack, "I think we're ready to close the case, Jack. Connie here tells me that defense is ready to deal."

Jack turned to Connie, "That so?"

Meanwhile, Connie cleared her throat and adjusted her skirt one last time.

"Yes...I just came from a meeting with Carson and her attorney," Connie tried her best to sound official, " so, if you'll both excuse me..." she could not look at either man, "I'm sure Mike could fill you in on the details of the Carson case. I think my time will be better spent drawing up the papers," her cheeks reddened as she walked determinedly past Jack and out the door. Jack watched her leaving, a confused look on his face.

When all signs of her were gone, he turned back to Mike, a solemn look on his face.

"So the Carson non-robbery case went down as easy as it seemed?" Jack was saying, his interest back on the case, "Mrs. Carson just up and confessed that she shot her husband in cold blood?."

"Well, murder is never that easy, Jack," Mike told him, "And as you know, confessions are rarely admitted freely and immediately. It's really due to the brilliant work of Lupo and Bernard. Mrs. Carson had originally told the detectives that two black men in ski masks had entered the premise and shot her husband dead while she was working in the back."

"I know _that_ part," Jack said, "so where did the astute detective work come in?"

"It was the toilet water that gave away the murderer," Mike grinned, enjoying the puzzled look Jack was giving him.

Jack's brow knitted together, "_What?_"

Mike then went on to explain how at the crime scene when Karen Harley was giving her statement to Bernard, Lupo had noticed her sleeve was tinged blue. After a thorough search of the store, he noticed the color of the toilet water was blue due to the toilet bowl cleaner. Lifting the lid, he discovered the gun. Meanwhile, Bernard had found a full roll of aluminum foil and a box filled with plastic sandwich wrap in the wastepaper basket, which was very suspicious, since only one of each was used before being callously tossed out.

"And that's when the detectives put two and two together," Mike ended that part of the story.

Jack looked even more confused.

"I just put two and two together and came up with three," Jack told Mike, "care to elaborate more?"

"The detectives theorized that she shot her husband, emptied the cash drawer and then called 911," Mike explained, "while waiting for the detectives to arrive, Mrs. Carson must have wrapped the gun in the aluminum foil and then sealed it with the plastic sandwich wrap and hid in the toilet tank. That is what caused the blue dye on her sleeve. Pretty damn clever, if you ask me. And she almost got away with it."

"Good job on the part of Lupo and Bernard," Jack looked pleased, "I just hope our side can close the case."

"I was just given the file so I haven't read 's confession yet," Mike said, as he pointed the folder which had previously been with Connie.

"Fine," Jack stated "After you've read the confession through, come see me in my office and we'll talk again."

"I will," Mike promised.

Then Jack headed for the door. Midway he paused, turned and looked back at Mike.

"By the way," he said, pointing towards Connie's office, "that..._situation_... that just occurred between you and Connie..."

Mike had hope Jack wouldn't bring it up, "Just consider it one of those _don't-ask_ / _don't- tell_ type of situations, Jack. I haven't had time to process it myself."

Jack's face was unreadable.

"Fine. I'll let you get back to your work, Mike, "Jack stated. He turned to walk out but then paused again, causing Mike to look over at him.

"Something _else_ you want to say, Jack?"

"Yes, yes, I do," Jack said as he cupped his hand playfully to his ear," Do you hear that?"

Mike listened. There was just the regular sounds heard in the office, nothing unusual.

He looked baffled at Jack's strange question, "Hear _what?_?"

"...it's the sound of a happy heart," Jack said, giving Mike one of his huge smiles to let him know he was giving Mike his stamp of approval.

Then he was gone.

.

Connie sat at her desk, her head buried in her hands.

_What is happening with her life?_ she thought.

Two days ago, her personal life was headed in the right direction. She had met the perfect man. Greg made her happy and excited and she even had thoughts of settling down. Now this...this _thing _with Mike.

Both of them were professionals and if Mike had feelings for her, that was on his side. She saw him as her boss and she had always been careful not to lead him on. Now suddenly she finds SHE'S the one with the reaction to his presence. .

Why all these feelings now? Maybe, she rationalized, she had these reactions to Mike because she was getting to close too Greg. That she wasn't ready to settle yet. Not _settle_, she corrected herself, settle _down._..

As she continued holding her head, she felt a headache coming on.

"Connie..."

_Mike._ Every thought went out of her head at the sound of his voice. She slowly lifted her head from her hands. When she looked over at him, she couldn't stop the quiverings churning inside of her. She was not ready to deal with this emotional roller coaster. For one of the few times in her life, she was a mess.

"Mike, please," she said, "I don't want to talk about what just happened-"

Mike needed to stop her before she embarrassed herself.

"Lupo just called," he explained with no emotions, "so I came here because I didn't want to keep you out of the loop."

So he remembered that she wanted to be kept apprised of current investigations. Connie was touched that he clearly is aware of her feelings. She cleared her throat and quickly recovered.

"Oh? Some new development in the case?" she asked.

"I'll say," Mike responded, "We need to go to the precinct. The detectives have a witness who claims he can give us the Central Park Strangler. "

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	7. Chapter 7

The Witness

Chapter 7

Mike and Connie arrived at the 2-7 and were directed to one of the interrogation rooms. Now they stood behind a two-way mirror while Lupo and Bernard were questioning a witness by the name is Larry Grover. He looked like a frightened weasel, with his beady eyes and scrawny frame. A feather falling would probably scare him.

"So what is it you wanted to tell us, Mr. Grover?" Lupo asked.

"I think I can help you find the Central Park Stranger," he told them as he sat at the table. He looked decisively at each of the detectives, "there is a reward if I help you, right? I heard it was $250,000."

"All in due time, Mr. Grover," Bernard informed me, "first, what about this information you want to give us?"

Grover looked around, as if he were expecting others to arrive, "You mean, I have to tell my story to the two of you? Anyone else available?"

"Why would you say that?" Lupo demanded to know, "don't we meet your _expectations_?"

Bernard got up closer to Grover's face, "Take a second look at me, Mr. Grover. Some people have told me that I have a pretty face,"he said dryly.

Grover looked nervous. Then keeping his voice purposely low as if it were a secret, he responded, "Hey, nothing personal, guys, it's just...you know, in all the cop shows, there's always...a, um... good looking _woman_ to interrogate the important witness. Makes the interrogation more_ interesting, _so to speak.."

Lupo and Bernard exchanged annoyed glances. Lupo was the first one to get up.

"This interview is over," he stated, as if he were leaving.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Grover," Bernard added with disdain in his voice, as he, too, stood up and headed out.

Grover's eyes widened, "No, NO! Wait! You didn't hear what I had to say! I saw him! The Central Park Strangler! He was running in the park...with the shoe! The _left _running shoe!"

Both detectives paused. It had never been released to the public that it was the_ left_ shoe. Bernard gave Grover a hard look.

"That's all you've got, Mr. Grover?" Bernard feigned disinterest, "because for $250,000, I can find _thousands_ of people who could luckily guess the correct shoe."

"No! I've got more..._ much_ more!" Grover insistently promised, "Listen! I can give you a description of the Strangler, the kind of vehicle he drove, AND almost the entire license plate number!"

Lupo and Bernard looked at one another as if considering their options. They went back to Grover.

"We're listening," Bernard told him forcibly, "but we don't want any more nonsense, understand?"

Grover looked relieved, "Yeah, sure, sure...but it's not nonsense to want to talk to a looker of the female persuasion, right? I mean, I would much rather talk with Christine Cagney than Thomas Magnum, you know?"

Bernard looked totally confused, _"Who?"_ he scowled.

Lupo explained, "He means he'd rather talk with Jane Rizzoli than Rick Castle."

Bernard nodded accordingly.

From outside the two-way mirror, Mike snickered.

"I'd wished the detectives would arrest Grover for disorderly conduct," he randomly stated.

Connie looked at him questionably, "Grover hasn't been disorderly..."

"But his mind is!" Mike commented as she smiled.

Connie turned her head back towards the interrogation. The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself that she could make a difference.

"it looks like Lupo and Bernard may need help," she stated matter-of-factly to Mike, " I'm going in there."

Her comment took Mike by surprise.

"What? No, Connie, you don't need to do that."

"Didn't you _hear_ why Gruber is reluctant to talk?" Connie pointedly asked, "it's because of the overabundance of testosterone in there!"

Mike couldn't believe it. Hadn't she previously raked him over the coals when she thought he was using her looks as a way to manipulate a juror? Observing his expression, it seemed as if she could read his thoughts.

"I know what you're thinking, Mike," she analyzed, "_But this is different_. I'm not exploiting myself. I'll just be in there to _listen,_ to encourage a witness to speak out, not try to influence someone's decision."

"Funny how when _**I**_ tried to explain it that way, it didn't work for me," Mike announced.

"So what's your point?" she responded with a half grin.

He rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that when Connie was determined, it was useless to argue with her.

"I guess your mind is made up then."

Connie put her hand on the door knob, "it is," she told him.

Back in the interrogation room, Grover was pleading.

"Please..." Grover's eyes were large, "I'm a simple man. All I'm asking for is to talk to a woman investigator, one that smells pretty."

"Sorry," said Bernard sardonically, "the remaining ones we have all smell mediocre."

Lupo half-snorted.

"You gotta understand..." Grover was explaining, "a person like me don't get much opportunities to talk to a real lady, right? So just let me..." he paused as the sound of the door opening could be heard, "_wellll,_ will ya lookie here..."

All three men watched as Connie entered.

Grover immediately sat up, "hel_looooo_ there, Beautiful!"

"Connie-" Lupo was ready to protest until Connie put her hand up to stop him.

Grover was almost salivating, "Now THIS is more like it! Sit down! Sit down, little lady!"

Connie took a seat opposite him, while Lupo and Bernard remained standing.

"Mr. Grover. I'm ADA Connie Rubirosa," she introduced herself and then got immediately down to business, "why don't you start from the beginning as to how you first saw the alleged Central Park Strangler."

Grover looked very excited and cooperative, "Okay, yeah, sure, Honey...you'll love this story!" he licked his lips, obviously ready to impress her, "You see, I was passing by the Conservatory Garden in Central Park, admiring the daffodils and crabapples, when I saw this guy running across the garden, like he was in a rush or something. Luckily he didn't see me. Anyway, he was clutching this left running shoe so tight to his chest, you would've thought it was made of gold..."

"What did he look like?" Bernard interjected

Grove looked at Bernard with disdain, "Hey, I'm talking to the lady here!" He turned back and gave Connie what he hoped was an enticing smile.

Connie forced a pleasant expression, "Please continue, Mr. Grover. You were going to describe this man?"

"Oh yeah, he was this big burly guy... but not burly up here," he pointed to his chest, "but burly down there," Grover indicated his stomach. He was the only one grinning at his own joke.

"Go on," Connie encouraged.

"So as I was saying, I'd figured the guy was in his mid-thirties with greasy brown hair and medium height..." he paused, soaking in all the attention, "By the way, lawyer lady, you single?"

"Down, boy," Lupo warned him, "or I may shove a biscuit in your mouth."

Grover continued, "Anyway, the guy then gets into his beat-up blue Mustang. It had a left rear broken taillight and a dent on his bumper..." he paused again and leaned in more to Connie," You do realize, don't you, that once I get the reward money, I'm going to buy myself a _Porsche,_ and YOU could be my first passenger!"

Connie ignored the last remark, "You had mentioned earlier, Mr. Grover, that you had a good look at the man's license plate number?"

Grover sat up, a proud look on his face, "Yes..at least most of it!"

Bernard questioned, "How were you able to remember the plate numbers after all this time?"

"It was easy," Grover maintained, "the last letter and numbers matched my dad's birthday...let's see...it was N-9-67...November 9, 1967."

Lupo jotted it down in his pad.

"And, Oh!" Grover continued, " The car was probably a 2001 model or near enough to that."

"And is that _everything _ you remembered about last Saturday?" Connie asked, winding down the interview.

He grinned at her, "Sure, Sweet Lips. And now that we're done with the talking..." his smile was lascivious, "You want to step out with me sometime? Once I get the reward money, I can show you a real good time," he gave her an obvious wink.

BAM!

Everyone looked over at the two way mirror. It sounded as though someone had banged on it with his fist. _HARD_. Which is what actually_ had_ occurred. From outside the interrogation room, Lieutenant Van Buren had been walking by just at that moment and witnessed Mike striking the glass with his fist.

"Looking for a way to relieve some stress, Counsellor?" she asked calmly.

Mike's eyes were blazing, "That Grover is a sleazebag!"

She calmly peered at him, "That is _no_ excuse for attempting to break my window, Mr. Cutter."

Mike looked contrite, "Sorry," he murmured, calming down.

Anita looked into the interrogation room. She did not know what had gone on in the interrogation but she could see everyone was getting up. She wondered why Connie was in the room. It didn't matter; it was obvious the interview was over.

"I don't know why you're so upset anyway," Anita told him, "the way I understand it, Mr. Grover is merely a witness, not a suspect."

Before she could say more, the door to the interview room opened and Lupo gave a contrived thanks to Grover for his help.

"Yeah, sure," Grover looked proud of himself, "I'd do anything for a pretty face..._anything,_" and gave Connie a satisfied smile.

Mike made a forward movement, but Anita touched his arm lightly. It didn't escape Connie's notice; she was secretly pleased. They watched Grover walk down the hallway until he disappeared.

"So, Detectives, did you get enough information from Mr. Grover?" Anita asked them.

"We found out the guy was a slimebucket," Bernard said.

"What did I tell you?" Mike said petulantly to no one in particular.

"Well, he definitely knew some pertinent facts about the Strangler," Lupo stated, "for instance, Grover mentioned the _left_ shoe. No one knew that but us."

"_And,"_ Bernard added, "he saw the supposed Strangler near the Conservatory Park area. The specific location where the body was found wasn't released, either."

"But he's still a jerk," Mike insisted.

Anita turned to him, "You've had that type of witness before, Counsellor. Don't let the man's sliminess affect your opinion of his veracity."

"No, I agree with Mike," Connie defended him, "Grover is a jerk because he's a liar."

Anita looked at her, "Oh?"

"Yes," Connie said, as she went on to explain, "he said he was there admiring the daffodils and the crabapples, but those two plants are grown in the springtime, not winter."

Lupo then injected, "And not only that, I know for a fact that he lied about something else."

"More lies?" Anita inquired, "I'm beginning to think Mr. Grover has more holes in his story than Swiss cheese. What did _you_ notice, detective?"

"Grover looked to be in his mid-30's," Lupo observed, "and he said the last part of the license plate matched his father's birthday, 1967. If that's true, that would mean the father was maybe 12 years old when Grover was born."

"Good point," Mike admitted," so now he's a scummy liar."

Bernard then spoke out.

""Why don't we start out by checking out Scummy Liar's story," he suggested, "I'll run the plates on that Mustang he mentioned to see what comes up."

"Not so fast, Detective," Anita said, "I know this case is important, but with the holiday season upon us, the rate of murders doesn't slow down just because Santa makes an appearance. We're low on staff here, so I need you and Lupo to investigate another homicide over on 7th and 38th."

"Lieu, with all due respect, I would think this Central Park Strangler case would take precedence over everything else," Bernard commented.

"Yeah," agreed Lupo, "Can't you send Officers Jackson and Gilroy out on that call?"

"Not really," Anita's face looked strained, "because _this_ time the victim is one of those officers. Officer Gilroy."

Her words of a fallen officer caused everyone to look stunned. After getting some further information Lupo and Bernard left immediately for the crime scene while Van Buren went back to her office, leaving Mike and Connie alone outside the hallway of the interrogation room.

"Looks like it'll be a long night for them," Connie commented.

"I'll say," Mike said.

Connie watched him, "Will you be heading back to the office?"

"Definitely," Mike told her, "with all this new information, I want to see what else can be done regarding this case. I suppose you'll be heading home?"

He held his breath. She looked at her watch. In three hours, she would be sitting at the Lincoln Center, taking in a performance of _The Nutcracker _with Greg. Three hours. _It wouldn't take THAT long to get ready_, she convinced herself.

"I have a little time to spare, Mike."

He let out his breath and relaxed.

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	8. Chapter 8

Sizing up the situation

Chapter 8

Even in the darkest of times, Christmas had a way of brightening the city, if only for a short time. In the suburbs of New York City, for instance, excited kids were building lopsided snowmen. complete with a 'stovetop' hat. Meanwhile more adventurous ones were off using garbage can lids to sled down snow-lumped hills. In the city, shoppers were milling about the holiday-lit stores, hoping to catch that perfect gift that will be penned from "Santa".

Mike and Connie, however, were too busy at the moment to even notice that Christmas was just around the corner. It was after hours when they arrived back at work. Only a few lights had been left on, mainly the hallway, the breakroom, and now Connie's office.

She was running the Mustang's partial plates while Mike was making coffee in the break room. He had left his thick coat slung over her visitor's chair. Soon, he reappeared and put the two mugs down on her desk and sat opposite her while she continued typing.

"Thanks," she stated, without looking up before lightly adding, "You sure were gone in the break room long enough. I had begun wondering if Santa had kidnapped you."

"Too bad for you, it wasn't that," Mike responded, "nothing so nefarious."

"Oh? I'm intrigued," Connie said, noticing the twinkle in his eye, "What could you have been doing in there?"

"In the cupboard I found a roll of aluminum foil and was attempting to run it through the paper shredder to make tinsel for our little Charlie Brown tree," he said, somehow maintaining a straight face.

Connie looked incredulously at him and laughed, "You were _not!"_

"Okay, maybe not, but you gotta admit, it would have been pretty damn clever!"

She smiled and just as she began to bring her mug up to her lips he spoke out again.

"Careful as you sip the coffee," he warned her, "just ignore the marshmallows."

She stopped with the mug midway, "Tell me you didn't..." she peered into her mug.

"No, I didn't," he admitted. He enjoyed bantering with her.

She took a sip. It had been brewed perfectly.

"This is wonderful! So much better than that instant coffee we have to rush to make," she said.

"Pfft! Instant coffee!" Mike put down that method, "It usually tastes too watery and there's no art to the preparation of it."

"I know what you mean," she told him, "last time I had to use the instant coffee, I made it so quickly that I almost went _back_ in time."

Now it was Mike's turn to laugh.

She had forgotten how pleasant it could be when working late. Phones not ringing off the hook, no deadlines to meet, co-workers not a distraction. Connie happily lifted her mug as in a gesture of a toast.

"To...sharing information over coffee," she declared.

Mike smiled as he lifted his cup, "To coffee...is there a better communication system in the office?"

They clanked their mugs together and then took another sip. Their playful bantering helped to ease the tension from such a stressful day. Then looking back at her keyboard, Connie typed in more data, pressed 'entered' and read the results on the screen.

"Looks like we got one hit on that partial license plate for a 2002 blue Mustang," she said, getting back to business.

Mike put down his mug and stood behind her, "What does it say?"

She read the screen, "The vehicle is registered here in New York City to a Carl Harding."

"Really?" Mike leaned in, liking how fresh and feminine she smelled, "Well, that's interesting," he noted, also reading the screen regarding Harding's information.

"Which part?"

"Take a look at what it says about his occupation, " Mike reached even closer and pointed to the screen, "seems he sells overstocked shoes at the flea market at Tenth Avenue in Manhattan."

Connie tried to ignore his closeness, although it was difficult.

"Makes sense," she analyzed, "Those type of stores do not accept credit cards; they're cash and carry places. Our witness, Larry Glover, may be on the up and up after all."

"Hmmm...I don't know..." Mike came back around and sat back down on her visitor's chair, "you ever get the feeling that all of this is falling together a bit too neatly? First a witness conveniently comes to us. Then he give us enough information for us to locate a suspect."

Connie shrugged, "It's happened before."

"But usually we believe the witness," Mike told her, "this one managed to lie about the small details. Not once, but twice."

He looked off in the distance, lost in thought. It gave Connie an opportunity to openly watch him and it fascinated her. She never noticed how attractive his profile was with his strong nose and boyish hair. . His blue eyes were almost dream-like when he was in deep thought. A loose bit of his hair had fallen forward, and she longed to brush it off his forehead. When he turned to look her way, it caused a responsive pulse in her body. She needed to say something halt these strange feelings in her mind.

"Are you thinking that the witness, Larry Grover, could be the Central Park Strangler?" she asked, thinking her voice sounded slightly tight.

"No, I'm not going so far as accusing him of _that,_" he said, "though I wouldn't mind if Grover _were_ the Strangler...it's just bugs me the lies he told us. About the flowers in the park. And the birth date of his father."

"So maybe he can't identify flowers and he's not good with numbers," Connie reasoned, glad to be thinking of the case again, "you can't discount the fact that he knew about the left shoe, which hadn't been leaked to the press. And the license plate number he gave us seemed to be legit, too. Even with a partial, we were able to get a hit on a possible suspect who could have sold shoes to all three victims. How could he know all that information without actually being there? With his help, we now have a suspect."

She purposely paused, thinking words seemed to be tumbling out of her needlessly, and hoping he wouldn't notice.

"He _did_ give us the biggest break in the case," Mike acknowledged, giving her a strange look. Connie pretended not to notice.

AND take a look at this..." she swiveled her computer monitor around, "this picture of Carl Harding on the screen fits the description Grover gave of the guy running away from the park at around the time of the murder, clutching a running shoe."

"Which describes a quarter of the white male population in New York City," Mike said, and then once more almost murmuring to himself, "Noo...it's just all too easy..." he then looked at Connie, "and another question is, why didn't Grover come forward earlier? Why now? The timing is off. He's just too unreliable of a witness with too many unanswered questions..."

"Nevertheless," Connie told him, as she lifted the receiver of the phone, "I'll call the Lieutenant with the information regarding the identity of possible suspect Carl Harding."

"Fine by me," he approved.

Mike waited patiently until after her call was completed. Throughout the entire call, she sensed his assessing gaze, so she purposely averted looking his way for fear she would become lost in his eyes again.

At last her call was completed.

"The Lieutenant thanked us for the information," Connie explained after hanging up, "so she's sending a unit to pick up Harding and if she has to, _she'll_ do the interrogation if Lupo and Bernard are still at the crime scene of Officer Gilroy's murder."

"Good," Mike nodded, "I guess we'll call it a night then."

He now stood up, went around his seat and grabbed hold of his winter coat and proceeded to put it on.

"You're leaving?" Connie asked, a bit surprised.

"It's getting late, and I'm exhausted. so I'm heading out..." he finished putting on his coat and looked at her, "besides, isn't it tonight that you're going to the ballet?"

Oh! The ballet! Greg! She looked at her watch; she would be meeting him in two hours. Not a lot of time. She knew she should go home and get ready for her date, but somehow she wanted to squeeze as much time with Mike as she could, although she couldn't explain why.

On paper, Greg was so perfect for her. And she always enjoyed their dates together, plus he was available for a relationship, all three things that didn't fit Mike.

_Why was she comparing them?_

Looking up again, she saw that Mike stood solemnly, as if he were waiting for her to get up, too. Which is exactly what _should_ happen. Mike Cutter is not part of her personal life.

Yet, she found herself enjoying his company more and more after work. It was an awkward yet exciting kind of comfort. The best way to describe it is it felt as if she were on the edge of a chasm, suspended in a breathless instant, waiting for him to react...to do something with her.

_No, she did not just think that._ Not about her boss. He was leaving now and she knew it was best that she depart, too.

She also stood up.

"Yes, I should be going, too."

Mike had already reached for her coat and gallantly held it out so she could put it on. She half smiled as she turned around with her back to him as she put her arms in the sleeves of her coat as he continued to hold it out for her. Though her back was turned, she was so aware of his every move.

When she turned around, he was standing so close to her; it seemed almost improper for two co-workers to be standing this close together. The silence was deafening and she needed to say something. His nearness made it impossible for her to think clearly.

"I-I certainly don't want to be late to the ballet," she informed him.

"I believe we've discussed that already," he smiled as she blushed at her own clumsy dialogue.

His smile then disappeared as he eyed her carefully, "Does he make you happy, Connie?"

Her heart was beating rapidly. She swallowed hard.

"Y-yes, of course. That's a strange question for you to ask, Mike."

She wasn't sure he he had absorbed her words as he seemed to be drinking in her nearness.

"You deserve someone special in your life, Connie," he said softly.

He stopped short of adding_, I wish it were me._

Then before either realized it, his hand went up to softly caress her cheek. She didn't move as she drowned in caress of his touch. It was a light, feathery touch, but she felt her heart was caught in a whirlwind. Thoughts were flying so fast she couldn't distinguish one from the other. Never had she imagined a man's slight touch could make her feel so wonderful.

She had never felt this way with Greg.

Greg! She needed to stop this, she thought. She needed to create some distance between her and Mike. Part of knew she should step back, but another part of her wanted to walk into his arms. He was so close to her now that she became lost in his clear, arresting eyes. Her mind, her body became drawn to him even further; it was as if she were in a trance.

"Mike," she simply said, the tone not exactly a sound of rejection.

Their eyes met and held. He liked how she looked at him straight on; no coy flirtation with her. She wanted candor; wanted things direct. He would do that. His blue eyes covered hers as he watched intently for her reaction.

"There's no mistletoe, but I'd like to kiss you now," his voice sounded sensual and welcoming in the quietude of her office.

The heat of his gaze and his brazen suggestion made her entire body tremble.

Then before she could respond with words, he leaned into her.

.

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_Please review._


	9. Chapter 9

Feelings

Chapter 9

The winter flurries descended on New York City, making the roads and pavement slippery, causing shoppers to move a little slower. But inside the DA's building, the flurries had to do more with _feelings_, which was just heating up.

Connie had worked beside Mike for a few years now. They certainly had been comfortable with one another, but now, as she stared intently at him, she felt a warm shock travel throughout her body. Any thoughts of anyone else has slipped from her mind. As he leaned in, she could almost hear Mike's pulse was racing as fast as hers. She knew what was going to happen and she welcomed it.

His lips covered hers. The kiss was gentle at first and her lips became softened by his tender kiss. The warmth of his mouth spread throughout her body, creating a hunger for more of him.

As the kiss lengthened it seemed as if he possessed her mouth with his deep, delicious kiss. Her arms instinctively went up around his neck and hung on as a wave of desire hit her. The feel of his lips burned across her mouth with a fire of need deep within her. She could feel his every breath, his heart pounding. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily. She gave a heavenly sigh, captivated by the blueness of his eyes.

"Mike...I never knew it could be like this..." she whispered while trying to breathe at the same time.

His hand once more lightly caressed her cheek as he savored its softness, "_I've_ always known it _would_ be like this, Connie," he responded back.

His words startled her. Realization set in. Her boss. Could it get anymore clichéd than that? And Greg, a man she had been seeing, was waiting for her. She reluctantly stepped out of the warmth of his arms.

"I-I have to go," she announced.

She had known all along Mike's feelings. Even now, she could see the passion and need in his eyes. Yet, it that _her _mind and _her_ body that was the most affected when it became lost in a sensual fog.

With the slight puffiness of her lips, she had the look of a woman who had been thoroughly kissed and she never looked more attractive. Even now Mike wished she were in his arms again, but her stunned look told him she was not thinking along the same lines. And she was right. Logically and professionally, it MUST not happen again. But at least he knew what it was like to kiss her. And it was everything he imagined it would be. But the situation was not all about him.

"Before you go, Connie, there's something I need to say regarding what just occurred between us," he suggested.

Although it would be awkward, she was actually a little relieved that he had brought it up.

"Alright," Connie said hesitantly. She looked down, unable even to face him.

"I know you're seeing someone else, Connie, " Mike began "And so ... I don't want you to feel guilty about what we did. It just..._happened._We didn't planned it and at least for my part, I don't regret it..." he looked resolute, "so it happened and now it's over...we will just make sure that it will never happen again."

Connie's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She had just kissed her boss. And it wasn't a short, impersonal kiss... it was the kind of kiss that she knew she would think about for a lifetime. Yet, it was one that must only stay a memory.

Connie held her head high and looked directly at him, "You're right..." she tried to sound nonchalant, "it was simply...a moment of weakness exacerbated by the excitement of the holiday. That's all it was."

Mike knew it wasn't like that for him. Even now, he found his eyes traveling down to her lips again, yearning, wanting. He kept telling himself the last person he should get involved with was Connie for so many reasons. He took in a deep cleansing breath.

"So, we're okay? " He watched her intently.

She found it difficult to find the right words. Strangely, her body was still trying to recover.

"Yes," Connie told him in her business voice, " we work together and things should not become awkward between us."

He nodded, "we will just move on."

"Move on, yes,' she concurred, "and we'll never talk about this ever again."

She could already feel her heart sinking. And later tonight, alone in her room she will replay every touch, every caress from Mike over and over again in her mind.

His face slightly faltered, though he knew it was for the best, "Never again," he said evenly, "it's the way it has to be. I'll walk you to your car now."

.

As always, The Nutcracker at the Lincoln Center was a huge success, enchanting audiences of all ages. The mischievous mice, the looming Christmas tree and the battalion of toy soldiers were all there, alongside dancing snowflakes, on a journey to the exotic Land of Sweets.

The glittering classic ballet warmed Connie's heart as she sat in the audience with Greg. Throughout the performance her mind had drifted to Mike, but she forcibly pushed those thoughts aside. She was one of the first up for a standing ovation. And then the curtains came down for the last time and it was over.

.

Greg was walking Connie to her apartment now. She held lightly onto his arm, hoping the night with him would end well. The night was chilly, but luckily it had not snowed, so her walkway was fairly cleared.

"I had a lovely time tonight," Connie said as they stood at her door.

Then she started fumbling in her purse for her keys, grateful that she had something to do with her hands.

Greg smiled confidently over at her, "You say that like it's the end of the night for us. I believe the night is still young."

At last she found her keys. She looked directly at Greg. Might as well get it over with.

"Listen, Greg," she began her well-rehearsed lines, "would you mind terribly if I call it a night? It's been a really trying day, what with The Strangler case looming over me..." and then she added diplomatically, "but going out with you to the ballet really kept me from thinking about the case."

Greg looked surprised at the turn-down, "That's a shame," he stated as he tried to enticingly run his hand up and down her arm in an effort to elicit a response from her. She looked down at his hand...and felt absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry," she responded, trying to look regretful,l "but I just want to curl up to a good book and relax. It's been one of those nights."

His hand dropped. For a second, his eyes flashed, but then he forced a smile.

"Oh, sure, I understand," he told her, "although you may regret it later tonight."

Connie bit her lower lip. She had been debating whether or not to tell Greg what had occurred between Mike and her. Though she and Greg were not in a committed relationship, he deserved to know.

"Actually, there's something I wanted to tell you...about what happened earlier tonight," Connie's mind was racing, wondering how she would word it and at the same time make it sound like something that would never happen again.

"More about the case, Connie?" Greg actually gave a frustrated heave, "Please...you need to get that out of your mind. And besides, you're actually ruining a surprise I have for _you_..."

Connie was slightly annoyed that Greg did not want to hear what she wanted to tell him. And regarding his surprise for her, she really was not in the mood for any more surprises.

"Maybe this isn't the right time," Connie told him, "perhaps you can tell me tomorrow."

Greg tilted his head, a little confused with Connie's behavior tonight.

"I'm going to chalk up your strange demeanor tonight to being mentally exhausted over that case," he decided, then he gave her his most charming smile, "so to help you bring in the Christmas spirit...how would _you._..like to be in Hawaii on Christmas Day?" he waited for her entire face to light up.

Connie looked incredulous,_ "Hawaii?"_

"Yes, why not?." Greg said, now looking very pleased with himself, "I have a condo in Hawaii that I use in the wintertime. Now, I usually don't leave here so early to flly over to the big island, but seeing as you're feeling down, I thought maybe you and I could make a vacation of it...what do you say?"

Christmas...in _Hawaii_?

"Greg, truthfully, I don't know WHAT to say...it's so unexpected..." she slowly shook her head, trying to take it all in.

"Isn't that what surprises are all about?" he looked so proud.

Connie didn't know what to think. So much had happened today, what with the Strangler case, Mike and now this!

Connie smiled into Greg's eyes, "I'm really touched by your consideration," she said, "May I give you my answer by tomorrow? I need a good night sleep to think about this."

"What is there to think about?" Greg was still smiling, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes, "who doesn't want to vacation in Hawaii?"

"It's just..." Connie grasped for straws, "I've always thought of Christmas as...the enjoyment of hot cocoa, decorating a tree, strolling in the snow, looking at Christmas window displays, listening to carolers... "

The minute she had spoken the words, she realized she had listed all moments having to do with Mike.

"So start new traditions!" suggested Greg, "Mojitos, grass skirts, and warm tropical breezes."

Connie almost made a face. To her, what he had described was the exact _opposite_ of how she viewed Christmas. Any other time, it sounded like a vacation dream package, but not during her favorite holiday.

"I'm going in my apartment now, Greg," she told him, putting her keys into the lock. Once she did that, she turned it and put her hand on the knob, "I'll talk to you about it later. Thank you again, for tonight," she said, hoping she sounded sincere.

He leaned in, "Wait, Connie...don't I at least get a good night kiss?"

She had already stepped into her apartment and was already starting to shut the door, "Good night, Greg, and thank you...for everything," she pretended she didn't hear him.

Greg looked slightly perturbed as the door closed. He couldn't figure out what was wrong with Connie, but it better be a one-night thing. Hopefully it was a one-night thing. It better be. Turning around, he nonchalantly left her residence.

Safely ensconced in her apartment, Connie gave a relieved sigh as she leaned her back against door. She shut her eyes momentarily, glad to be alone at last. When she opened her eyes, she slowly brought her hand to feel her lips. It was only in the solitude of her apartment that she was willing to admit that the reason why she didn't want Greg to kiss her was she didn't want to erase the feel of Mike's lips over hers.

She tried to slow her pulse as she imagine being with Mike earlier. His kiss had been strong and insistent, yet she had also felt a tenderness in his caress. She didn't understand what she was feeling for Mike, but one thought kept pounding in her mind as strong as the beat of her heart.

Mike Cutter had kissed her as if the world was ending, as if he had to taste life one last time before it was gone. And the strange thing is, that is exactly how she kissed him back.

.

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_(Don't worry -more of the case next chapter!)_

_Please review_


	10. Chapter 10

Decisions

Chapter 10

Despite the precinct and DA's office working on several cases, the Central Park Strangler case and Officer Gilroy's murder took precedence over most. At least they now have a suspect for the Strangler case. Carl Harding, a seller of overstock shoes at the swap meet in Manhattan.

It was the afternoon and Lupo and Bernard were on their way back to the 2-7 from Officer Gilroy's funeral. He had been a young police officer who was gunned down in a secluded area at the South Seaport Pier in Lower Manhattan. Connie had gone with the detectives to the funeral, since she was acquainted with Officer Gilroy's widow. They were now discussing the slain officer's tragic slaying.

"I can't believe Ted is gone," Lupo was saying shaking his head sadly as they entered the precinct, "the area he where his body had been located wasn't even part of his regular patrol route."

"Yeah," Bernard added, "lots of unanswered questions regarding his murder."

"Maybe he saw something suspicious looking or was rousting some vagrants," Connie suggested while walking down the hallway of the 2-7.

"Still doesn't make sense," Bernard told her, "he would have called dispatch. I'm thinking he was meeting an informant. Either his snitch shot him or he was set up."

"We'll know more when we investigate his killing," said Lupo determinedly, "because we _will_ find his murderer."

"Speaking of murders," Bernard turned to Connie at the end of the hallway, "you've got a little time to spare, Connie? We'd like to update you on the Central Park Strangler case."

Connie shrugged, "Sure, the day couldn't get any more depressing anyway."

Now back at their desks, Lupo and Bernard had brought a chair for Connie to sit. The detectives were not only anxious to find the killer of their fallen comrade, they were also determined to close the Strangler case.

"So were you able to question the suspect Carl Harding?" Connie asked, now discussing the arrested Strangler suspect.

"Unfortunately Harding's not talking," Bernard frustratingly told her, "he's already invoked his right to counsel."

"We may have enough here to convict him without a confession," Lupo chimed in, " According to the crime lab report here, the missing shoes belonging to the three murdered joggers were among those found in Harding's collection at his apartment, so what that means is... "

_Christmas in Hawaii._

Connie was locked in her own private thoughts. Maybe it was because she had returned from a funeral of a slain police officer or maybe it was because of the Strangler investigation, but she was feeling really down at this moment. Which is so unlike her during the holidays. Maybe she should get away. And it'll be a wonderful opportunity for her to concentrate on Greg. They'd be away from all these...distractions.

"...can you believe that, Connie?" Bernard asked, suddenly breaking into her thoughts.

"Hmm _What?_" Connie questioned as both detectives were looking at her funny.

Lupo's eyes narrowed, "You okay, Connie? You seem...out of it."

"No, I'm fine!" Connie tersely insisted, "sorry, don't mind me, it's just hard to be holiday cheerful after all that's been going on lately..." she gave them both a reassured smile, "go on, I'm listening..."

"We were discussing the strange glitch which may delay the Strangler case moving forward," Lupo said.

"A glitch? What do you mean?" Connie leaned in, forcing herself to totally concentrate on what the detectives would tell her.

"After a search of Harding's apartment, the police recovered _dozens_ of left running shoes," Bernard told her.

"Dozens?" Connie repeated, looking puzzled, "You mean, _dozens of running shoes_ besides the three victims'?"

"Yeah," Bernard responded, "so instead of a slam dunk of a case, we've got more investigating to do because of those other shoes; that maybe Harding had committed more murders that we don't know about."

Connie looked incredulous, "You don't think for one second that he REALLY committed DOZENS of other murders, do you?" she asked.

"No..." Lupo stated, "but we still have to contact other law enforcement agencies in any cities where Harding had lived before to see if any missing persons were reported with missing left shoes. A big pain if you ask me."

She stood, "Well, I'll let you get back to your work. I'm heading back to the office. I'll be sure to relay all of this information to Mike. Let us know if there are any new developments."

"We will," promised Lupo.

.

As Connie entered the elevator in the DA's building, she felt nervous about meeting up with Mike again. When she replayed in her mind the kiss they had shared, it was the conversation afterwards that haunted her the most:

_She could feel his every breath, his heart pounding. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily. She gave a heavenly sigh, captivated by the blueness of his eyes._

_"Mike...I never knew...it could be like this..." she whispered while trying to breathe at the same time._

_His hand once more lightly caressed her cheek as he savored its softness, "I've always known itwouldbe like this, Connie," he responded back._

Even now her heart gave a leap at his words. Yet they had decided they would never talk about what had occurred between them that night; that they would go back to being professional colleagues once again.

But that one kiss was unforgettable. It revealed that there was something intangible between them, she thought silently to herself, but she'll never have the opportunity to find out what that something could be.

What was she even thinking? SHE WAS DATING GREG...THE MAN WHO ASKED HER TO GO AWAY WITH HIM DURING THE HOLIDAYS...

But she hadn't given him an answer yet. The elevator doors opened, and Connie couldn't stop the fluttering butterflies in her stomach as she walked down the aisle of the busy DA's office. Passing the file cabinet with the lone Christmas tree on top of it, she paused and did a double take. Getting a closer look at the tree, she saw little strings of tinsels hanging off of it.

Or was it aluminum foil from the office shredder? She went even closer to the tree and touched the shiny tin strips, noting that it actually WAS tinsel, not stiff strings of aluminum foil. She scoffed herself for thinking such a silly thought.

_But at least someone is taking care of our little Charlie Brown tree,_ she smiled to herself.

At last Connie arrived on the outside of Mike's office. She took a calming breath in and then peeked inside.

Mike was at his desk, busy studying the entire case file regarding the liquor store robbery, the one where the wife, Karen Carson finally admitted to be the one who killed her husband. He was trying to work out a deal with the defense attorney that would please both sides. It had been difficult concentrating on the work before him all morning.

She stepped in quickly and delivered a quiet, "Hi."

At the sound of her voice, Mike immediately lifted his head, his eyes alert. Then he leaned back in his chair, drinking in the sight of her. It didn't matter how often he sees her, her first appearance always sent his senses careening.

"Connie," he greeted her in a friendly manner. Then his face darkened at bit, "how was Officer's Gilroy's funeral?" he inquired.

"Somber and sad," she admitted, regarding the funeral, "especially when Carolyn and her two young children accepted the folded American flag , immediately followed by all the officers respectfully saluting."

"That _would_ be a heart-rending image, " Mike empathized, looking concerned, "are you okay?"

She gave a sigh, "Yes," she stated, finding it difficult to look into his concerned face, "It's just that the cases are unusually sad this time of the year with the senseless deaths."

"Are you also referring to the Strangler case?"

She nodded, "since I had accompanied Lupo and Bernard to the funeral, they gave me an update on that case, too."

"So did Harding confess? Please tell me that he did."

"Not even close," she said.

She updated him regarding all three victims' running shoes found in Harding's apartment.

"At least it sounds as if we've found our man," Mike stated.

"Almost a smoking gun, isn't it?" Connie rhetorically asked, "The problem is, all those _other_ running shoes found in his apartment muddied the water for us."

Mike forehead furrowed, "Did you say _other_ running shoes?" he questioned.

She explained how the detectives told her that the police discovered dozens of left running shoes at Harding's place.

"It couldn't be that each of those shoes represented a murder," Mike pondered, "That would mean numerous unsolved murders involving missing left running shoes occurring without the authorities not being able to make a connection. Almost an impossibility." he determined

"I know," Connie agreed, "so instead of murders and trophies...Mr. Harding maybe just had...a freaky shoe fetish."

Mike steepled his hands together in deep thought, "But that doesn't make Harding NOT the killer. He may have this strange shoe fetish, but what would he be doing with the murdered joggers' three shoes in his possession, too?"

"I don't know, but this case isn't ready to be prosecuted just yet," Connie said, "I think the detectives have a lot of investigative work ahead of them."

"You're right," Mike declared, "too many unanswered questions. And we still haven't figured out why witness Larry Grover had lied to us about the seasonal flowers and the license plate number when identifying Harding as the Strangler."

"Here we go again," Connie stated knowingly. Once Mike had something in his head, it was hard for him to let it go, "You'd give almost anything if the witness, Larry Grover, was the Strangler, wouldn't you?"

"It certainly would make _my _Christmas a little merrier!" he admitted as she smiled. He then stood and began to put on his coat, "Well, as much as I would love to do some more Larry bashing, I'm expected at a meeting with Karen Carson's lawyer to hash out a deal."

He was referring to the liquor store robbery case where the wife shot the husband and blamed it on the robbers.

"You need me to come?" she asked.

"Not necessary," Mike told her, "I'm sure you have enough to do in the office, if you're expected to get out of here before Christmas."

She stared at the stack of files, "Thanks, I could use the extra time."

She watched as he finished putting some papers in his briefcase and shutting it. He walked from behind the desk and was just about to pass her.

"Wait...Mike.." she beckoned him back with a wave of her hand. She was leaning on his desk as he came up and stood in front of her, "You have a piece of loose thread," she awkwardly gestured at his coat, managing to keep her tone casual.

"Really?" He looked down at his coat for the loose thread, "Where?"

Connie showed him by example. She pointed to the same area on her own jacket, "...there..."

He looked down and saw the thread sticking to his coat. _As his hand went to retrieve it, Connie imagine that it was HER hand on his torso, attempting to remove it. She imagined her hand lingering at that one spot, then her fingers would slowly spread across his heart as he stood very still, waiting and watching. She could almost feel the peculiar tension at the nearness of him and once she removed the thread, they would stare openly at each for an endless moment, lost in unspoken thoughts._

"Thanks," he said, suddenly breaking into her musings.

Brought back to reality, she blinked quickly and could see the thread was now gone.

She smiled unsteadily at him, "Uh, sure; see you later, Mike."

He nodded and turned to go. Her skin still felt warmed from his presence as she watched him depart. And that's when Connie knew that it was best she'd get away from all of this.

Maybe Hawaii was the answer after all.

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	11. Chapter 11

On Opposite Sides

Chapter 11

It was late afternoon of the next day when Mike and Connie had gone to the 2-7 to discuss the Strangler case with Lupo and Bernard. All four were seated in the glassed conference room, where the crime whiteboard had been situated.

Mike and Connie were even more more determined to keep things on a professional level. So although they sat directly across from one another at the long table in the conference, neither made eye contact. Instead they listened attentively as the detectives briefed them thoroughly regarding the case. The meeting was drawing to a conclusion. They were all mentally tired.

Connie purposely avoided looking at Mike as she addressed everyone, "So, since Harding's lawyered up, any suggestions on what else we could do?"

Connie gave Mike a fleeting glance. Although she tried to push away the image of their kiss, snippets of how their brief moment together simmered in her mind: one thought, one breath, one touch, one heartbeat. Her cheeks seemed to feel slightly warmed.

"I can arrange for the psychiatrist to interview him," Mike suggested evenly, "Maybe Skoda can delve into the killer's bizarre left-foot fetish and tell us something we can use in court."

"I think that's a good suggestion," she concurred in a businesslike matter. Of course, Lupo and Bernard were oblivious of the awkward situation .

"I've got this here picture of Harding," Bernard showed them briefly, "I'll put it up for all the world to see."

He then got up and posted it on the whiteboard under the word 'suspect'. On the board was also a picture of Larry Grover with the title 'Annoying Witness' written above it. This was placed alongside the names of the three female joggers as 'Victims'. The pictures of the three left shoes remained on the board along with the other clues they had discovered on the way.

Connie was studying the board and noted Lupo and Bernard had used the other side to post information about the murder of Officer Gilroy. There was a picture of him with the word 'victim'. There were also crime scene photos, with a picture of the fallen body. It was sad and depressing.

"I see you've also put the facts of Officer Gilroy's murder up on the board, too," Connie commented.

"It's tough working two cases at once," Lupo explained, "I just wished we could pin up a suspect's name up on the board for Ted's murder."

"Yeah," Bernard added. "Such a waste. Ted Gilroy was just a rookie cop. He only had a few routine traffic violations, some drunk-and-disorderlies and a few nickel-and-dime drug busts before he was tragically gunned down."

"They always get the good ones," Mike said, even though he hadn't known the officer, "Where was his usual beat?"

Lupo shrugged, "He patrolled 110th and 5th," he stated referring to the streets just on the rim of Central Park, "That's a tough beat for a new cop. But from everything I've heard, Ted did a great job."

Connie sat up, "Did you say, 110th and 5th? Isn't that the same area of the Conservatory Gardens?"

"Yeah, they're both on the north side of the park, ..." Bernard began, but stopped when he realized where the conversation was headed, "wait, Connie...just hold on there,..the Conservatory Gardens...you're not implying Ted Gilroy had something to do with the Stangler case, are you?"

"You can just forget about that!" Lupo stated quickly, a scowl on his face, "B and I knew Ted Gilroy as a person as well as an police officer. No way would he be involved in a murder." His eyes looked challenging.

Before Connie could respond, Mike jumped in.

"She's not saying anything of the sort," he defended Connie, "she's just commenting about the coincidence of the location."

Looking at Bernard, Connie asked, "do you have Gilroy's arrest record log, by chance?"

"I don't see why you would want to see it," Bernard said, sounding aloof.

Reluctantly, he shuffled through papers until he found what he wanted. Bernard handed a stack to her, "It won't help you. There's no connection between Officer Ted Gilroy and our suspect Carl Harding. And Ted's never made an arrest outside of his jurisdiction."

"No, I suppose I won't see Harding's name here," Connie stated as she continued to flip the sheets when suddenly she stopped, "buuut..."

Slowly she looked up and stared directly at Mike's eyes for the first time that day. He sat up.

"What is it, Connie?" he inquired, encouraging her to continue.

She tried to sound nonchalant, "...Six months ago Officer Gilroy arrested our witness, Larry Grover, making a drug buy near Garrison Golf Course, which is up the path from the Gardens in Central Park."

"So what?" Bernard didn't look surprised, "We already knew Larry Grover as a scumbucket, so he's a drug addict too."

"Don't you think it's a little TOO coincidental that Officer Gilroy and our witness, Larry Grover, previously came in contact with one another?" she questioned.

"Not really," Bernard stated confidently, "not unless you put can put the suspect, Carl Harding, in that equation," he then challenged her, "So, _can_ you?"

Connie scanned through the log quickly, "No...no, there's no record of Officer Gilroy or Carl Harding meeting up."

"I think you may be barking up the wrong tree, Connie," Lupo agreed with his partner, "Officer Gilroy had made plenty of arrests in the area Grover hangs out in. They were bound to run into each other. This has nothing to do with the Strangler case."

Mike didn't like how Lupo and Bernard seemed to draw conclusions without considering this latest discovery.

"Detectives," piped in Mike, "are you two letting your friendship and admiration for Officer Gilroy cloud your perception of the Strangler case?"

"No," said Bernard, "we just don't want to besmirch Officer Gilroy's reputation unnecessarily."

"We're not, trying to do that, either," Connie declared, not realizing that she had said, '_we',_ "we're just trying to put all the facts in perspective."

"And remember," Mike added, "initially, Larry Grover's interview didn't sit well with _any_ of us. If you recalled, when we had interviewed him, he had lied twice to us regarding the plants around the Conservancy and also about the license plate numbers."

"Hmmph!" guffawed Bernard, "Not THAT again...need we remind you that it was Grover's information that_ led_ to the arrest of Carl Harding?"

"I'm well aware of that, detective" Mike said, "I'm just reminding you that Grover's account of his supposedly witnessing Harding in the park that day could be considered suspect as well."

"I agree," piped in Connie.

_"Look,_ " Lupo tried to put the officer involvement theory to rest, "Gilroy was a dedicated police officer with a stellar record.. I know for a fact that he drove a ten-year old car and lived with his wife and kids in a tiny apartment. He was too busy working and earning a living for his young family...he didn't have _time_ to murder some park joggers!"

"That's a ridiculous statement, Detective," Mike said, "we weren't implying that_ at all. _Seems to me that you two are more interested in defending Officer Gilroy than looking at the case objectively."

"That is NOT what is happening here," Lupo's eyes narrowed at Mike.

"Really?" Mike questioned, sarcasm interlaced in his tone, "it _sure_ looks that way from where I sit."

Lupo's voice got louder and harsher, "Listen, Cutter-"

"Okay, everyone, chill out," Bernard's voice was heard loud and clear as he tried to calm the situation.

"Kevin's right," Connie agreed, "I think we've talked both cases to the ground."

Both Detective Lupo and Mike backed off, although they stared coolly at one another.

Lupo got up, as well as Bernard.

"You're right, Connie," Lupo announced, "we've done all we can with just case for today. Let's just call it a night."

Bernard backed up his partner.

I'm with you, partner," Bernard said, "We've got other work to do. We'll see you two later."

A few mumbled goodbyes were uttered and they left, leaving Mike and Connie alone in the conference room.

.

It was early evening by the time they got to Mike's car so that he could take them back to the DA's office.

"Well, that certainly didn't go well," Mike said, twenty minutes later, as they sat in his parked car.

They had barely made it to the car before the snow fell heavier. In ten minutes, the city would be blanketed with a new layer of snow. Already the cold storm had frozen the fire hydrant located nearby. Now looking out the car window, they saw the flakes swirling down in hurried flurries They were fortunate to be in the sanctuary of Mike's vehicle as the whipping winds surrounded them.

They sat in the car quiet for a while, wondering what to say to one another. Connie felt the only safe conversation was to talk about the case.

"I don't think the detectives appreciated us questioning the motives regarding one of their own, " she commented, "but thank you for what you said in there...for...not backing down."

Mike nodded his acknowledgement.

"I know Lupo and Bernard meant well, but like all law enforcement officers, they didn't want to cross the proverbial 'blue line'," Mike stated, referring to how the police stand united alongside their 'blue' uniformed brethren.

When there was silence again, they were both aware that they were alone in a closed area. Mike wordlessly got out his key and inserted it into the ignition of his car. Instead of the engine starting up immediately, however, the dashboard lit for a second and then all they heard was a click. He tried again. The click could be heard again. Then nothing.

"Damn!" Mike mumbled under his breath.

Connie scowled, "What's wrong?"

"I think the battery is dead."

"_Now?_" Connie looked around outside the window of the car. The falling flakes outside had thickened. Bits of it hit the windshield of his car while the wind began to howl outside. With the windshield wipers not working, the dashboard window would soon be covered in a layer of snow.

Mike had whipped out his cellphone. No reception. Connie tried hers, too, with the same results.

"I don't think we should stay here in the car with the heater not working," Mike commented calmly, "It's best we find a place where we can make a call and seek some shelter."

They looked out from the passenger side of his car, through the window,. The snowy area where Mike's car was parked was replete with office buildings, now closed down for the day. And they could not travel by foot far due to the harsh weather.

As Connie now scanned the buildings in the nearby distance, hoping she could find someplace they could wait until a tow truck could be summoned.

"Look, Mike, over there!" she pointed at the one lit sign. Mike's eyes followed where her finger pointed. Squinting, he tried to read the sign but it was difficult due to all the falling snow. Not exactly the shelter he had been envisioning, but it would have to do.

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	12. Chapter 12

Finding a sanctuary

Chapter 12

It had already been a tiring day. And it had just begun. Now Mike and Connie had to worry about calling a tow truck while seeking shelter.

Exiting the car first, Mike fought the whipping wind to get out. The wind howled in his ears so he flipped the collar of his jacket all the way up and plodded through the snow as quickly as possible to the other side of his vehicle. Opening the passenger side of the car, he grabbed Connie's arm to help her out, their vision blocked by the heavy flurries.

The wind gusts made trudging through the snow-covered sidewalk difficult, but at last they reached the business with the lit sign, three doors down from their stalled vehicle. Seeing the light from under the door, they knocked before entering the building of a psychiatrist office.

Mike and Connie entered, shutting the door with some effort.

At first the place seemed void of people.

"Hellooo! Anyone here?" Mike yelled.

Judging from the lack of clients, it seemed as if the place was closed for the day. The waiting room was small and nondescript in colors of gray and browns. There were folding chairs, a brown fabric sofa, and a coffee table with magazines spread out. A simple check in desk was located to the right. Some effort had been made to make the seating area seasonal with garlands hanging off the walls and a decorated Douglas Fir tree with colorful pretend presents surrounding it.

"Hey! Hey!" a male voice shouted from the back of them, "You watch where you step, eh?"

The man who spoke out was definitely not the psychiatrist. Wearing a worn plaid shirt, baggy pants and work boots, he held a professional floor polisher in his hands, indicating he was probably part of the night cleaning crew.

"It's quite blustery outside," Mike commented.

The man seemed disinterested.

"You not see 'closed' sigh? Doctor not in." he told them.

"Please," Mike appealed, "The battery in my car died down. We just need to make a phone call to call the tow truck company to jump start the car and then we'll be on our way."

"Hey, Frank!" another male was sitting behind the check-in counter, working on a crossword puzzle. He was either the janitor's boss or a friend visiting, "_Conosce questo_...which Yankee pitcher has most World Series victories?" he asked, in hopes of completing his puzzle

The man who had been talking with Mike, yelled exasperatedly over his right shoulder, "How the hell do I know, Tony? Do I look like a baseball card?"

"That would be Whitey Ford," Mike responded back, "he had 10 World Series victories and also started in 22 World Game series."

"Oh yeah?" Tony, the guy behind the counter, responded as he then attempted to fit in the name _Whitey Ford_ on his crossword puzzle. A satisfied smile crossed his face.

"Hey! _Fantastico!_ It fit_ buona!_"

He looked back down at the paper and another scowl appeared, "Hey! How 'bout this," he inquired, reading the puzzle, "what vehicle is Luke Skywalker drive on the planet... Ta-tooine?"

Mike looked stumped.

"Try _landspeeder,"_ Connie answered immediately while Mike exaggeratedly mouthed _Really?_ followed by a big grin on his face.

"Landspeeder..." Tony questioningly repeated, "one o two word?"

"One," Connie answered with certainty.

"Ah!" Tony enthusiastically scribbled the word down on his crossword squares. To his delight, it fit perfectly, "_Eccelente! Grazie!_"

"Maybe now, Tony_,_" Frank told him, " "You no bug me every 10 minutes."

"I no do! Maybe...fifteen _minuti!_" Tony countered.

Frank now turned to Mike, "So, why you here?"

"Any chance we could use the office phone to call the tow truck company?" Mike asked.

"For me, I say okay, " Frank had warmed up a bit, "but, well... not my business, you know!"

"_Si accente,_ Frank!" Tony from behind the counter said, _"Essere gentili con la intelligente e bella donna..._be nice to the smart and beautiful lady, yes?" he then gestured to Connie, "Come here to me, _bella donna_, I show you phone here!"

Connie smiled gratefully as Mike handed over his AAA card, "Thank you."

While she made the call, Mike spoke to Frank.

"You think we can stay here until the tow truck comes?" Mike asked, "It's pretty cold outside."

Frank looked away, as if he were considering it. Then he turned to Mike, "You know how to make good coffee? Me and Tony, we, not so much."

Mike grinned, "I've had plenty of practice."

Frank nodded, "Okay, then...pretty woman make call, you make coffee, Tony work puzzle, and I polish floor. We good?"

"Sounds like a plan," Mike stated with gratitude.

.

Now with their duties done, Frank told Mike and Connie to wait in another room until he completed polishing the front office He escorted them to the doctor's private therapy room and flipped on the switch, bathing the room in light. It consisted mostly of a long cushy leather sofa , two very nice coordinating leather chairs, a writing desk and bookcases off to the side.

"Everything locked up in here, but you no touch nothing, yes?" Frank warned them, "Wax job done here already."

"We'll be sure not to touch anything," Connie promised.

With an approved nod, Frank left, closing the door behind him. They were left alone again. The first thing that noticed was how cold the room felt. Connie hugged herself, for the heater had already been turned off.

"I feel a cool draft in here," Mike commented, "the size of a glacier."

"Just be appreciative that we have a place that's out from the snow blizzard," she said, fighting a grin as she looked about the neatly organized office.

"Thanks to my coffee-making skills," Mike reminded her.

"...and my trivia knowledge..." she added,.

"Yeah, _about_ that," Mike rubbed his chin, "since when were you a Star Wars fan?"

"Since Hans Solo decided to wear tight pants, " she teased.

"Yes, well, there's that," Mike smiled back.

"Anyway," Connie said as she crossed her arms and rubbed them, as if she were cold, "regarding the phone call I made, the towing company stated that with all this snow, the truck probably won't be able to make it through for an hour."

"Are you cold?" Mike asked, "Because I could ask Frank or Tony, your new friend, to turn on the heater in here..."

They could now hear the whirring sound of Frank's polishing machine now.

"Let's not bother Frank; we need to stay in his good graces," Connie's voice was slightly louder, "We're get our feet off the floor and sit. Just one snowy footstep on his polished floors and we'll be back out in the cold."

She went and sat at one end of the sofa while Mike sat at the other. The room stubbornly refused to get any warmer as the air became even chillier. It would be a waiting game now. Mike loosened his tie. leaned his head back and looked up to the ceiling.

"So...what do you want to discuss while we wait?" he asked.

"How about Strangler case?" she suggested.

He turned his head tiredly to look her way, "Really? There's more to say? We've argued more with the detectives about that than any case I've ever prosecuted."

Connie was digging through her briefcase, "Then...how about..." she lifted a file up, "...we discuss _this_?"

Mike sat up and looked closely at what she had in her hand..."What is that? is that a new file?"

Connie acknowledged.

"It's the file on Officer Gilroy's case," she stated casually as she handed to him and he took a quick glance inside.

"Where did you get this?" he inquired and then answering his own question, he asked, "did you steal it off Bernard's pile of files in the conference room?"

"_Steal_ is rather a harsh word, isn't it?" Connie shrugged, "More like _borrowed_ for a short time."

Mike grinned, "I didn't know you could be so sneaky, Connie."

She had a mischievous glow, "I'm looking at the Master here!"

He was still smiling as he viewed the stack of pictures she handed him from the Gilroy file until something caught his eye.

"Oh,well... that's interesting." Mike announced.

"What, what is it?" Connie asked, trying to get a look.

He showed her, "This crime scene picture, " he showed her the one in question, "take a look at the interior of Officer Gilroy's patrol car on the passenger seat...isn't that a brochure advertising vacationing in Barbados? Why would he keep that in his patrol car? Where would he have money to vacation over there?"

"Strange that you should mention that," Connie said, rummaging through the rest of the file, "because I saw this magazine of new apartment listings in Manhattan was among the list of items found in his storage locker."

Mike looked puzzled.

"So...Officer Gilroy just started out his career, at the lowest pay grade in the department, yet he's already wanting to spend lavishly?" he tried to reason, "I think when we get back to the office, it's worth checking out his financial records."

"Without telling Lupo and Bernard," Connie added.

"We'll have to tread very carefully," Mike agreed, not liking the idea where the Gilroy investigation was headed. He noted how Connie began to hug herself again, as if it were freezing in the room, which it was.

"Cold?"

"Feels like an ice cube in here," Connie stated, trying not to make her teeth chatter.

"You could use my suit jacket," he suggested, starting to take it off.

"No, that's fine," she told him, stopping him in mid-action, "you don't need to play chivalrous with me, Mike."

"Well, then," Mike next suggested, "we could join forces and sit right next to each other. Maybe we'll feel warmer with our combined body heat."

She gave him a 'look'. Connie was well aware what could happen and she knew he knew it, too.

"Not like _that_, Connie," he immediately followed up, "We'll just bump shoulders in order to keep us warm. The only thing we'll be sharing will be our winter coats. I promise."

"Despite what happened to us previously?" she reminded him, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

He gave her a small smile, "Are you saying you can't resist me?" he teased.

_"Mike..."_

"Okay, okay," he said throwing his hands up in a surrender gesture, "You stay at your end and I'll stay in mine."

Her body shivered with cold at that thought.

"Fine, we'll join forces, but ONLY to stay warm," she finally decided, "just meet me in the middle of this couch."

They scooted over until one side of arms touched. She tried not to notice when immediate warmth spread through her body, not caused by his body heat. He then draped both their heavy coats over them.

"Better?" he asked. But they were so close, he didn't dare look her way.

She looked down and suddenly became very interested looking at the piled coats, "Mike, it's just...I need to tell you something."

"What is it?" he asked, somehow knowing he would not like what she was about to say.

She took a deep breath in and quickly said it in one breath.

"I'm going away with Greg to Hawaii..."

She then sneaked a peek at him.

"I see," he said evenly, staring directly ahead. The room was quiet. At last when he eyed her, his voice barely above a whisper, "When?"

"S-soon."

"And you're telling me this," he said, his face unreadable, "because...I need to change your time sheet?"

Connie didn't know how to react. She struggled with her words, "Well, we haven't decided when we'll be leaving since I haven't given him an answer yet, but it'll be before Christmas. When we get this whole Strangler puzzle figured out...or, perhaps, even if we don't," she stated determinedly.

They sat in silence. The only sound was the ticking of a clock nearby. So much had happened and it was getting exhausting even to think. Though their shoulders touched, neither one dared to look at the other. Soon, Connie let out a huge yawn. Mike looked her way.

"Tired?" he inquired.

"Sorry, it's been a long day," she admitted sounding as tired as she felt.

"Why don't you get some shut-eye?" Mike suggested, "You'll probably have a good half an hour before the repair truck comes. Just lean on my shoulder here."

Connie's eyes widened as she held her breath. Their eyes met and held. She couldn't say no and she hated herself for that.

He held out his arm, "I won't try anything, I promise..." he said, "just...try and get some rest."

Relaxing in his warmth to keep away the chill did sound like a warm, practical idea.

"...as long as it doesn't bother you.." she said.

"The New York Yankees breaking a winning streak bothers me," he said quietly, _"this._..not so much."

"Oh...alright..."

She didn't know how to proceed. She stared at his outstretched arm, but she didn't make a move.

"Connie, my arm is falling asleep," he said, as he continued to hold out his arm.

She blushed as she timidly asked, "A-are you ready for me?"

"Connie, what is there to be ready?" he asked sarcastically, "It's not as if I'm launching into space! I'm ready!"

She tentatively got a little closer and then scooted down until her head was on his chest while his arm enclosed her. It seemed so strange to have him so close to her, and if she were to be honest, the feeling was not a terrible one.

His voice was so near, "Comfortable?" he asked, once she had settled in.

"Yes, thank you, Mike."

She cringed at how formal she sounded. It was as if she were addressing the Queen of England! What to say or do next? Should she make conversation with him, pretend she was asleep, look up at his face or _what?_

Although she couldn't see him, she felt him shuffling some papers and saw he had placed them on his lap. He was obviously reading. Her eyelids were getting heavy but now she no longer wanted to sleep. She was so aware of his nearness and she liked being surrounded by the clean masculine scent of him. With her head was on his chest, she could hear his heart beating rapidly and she took delight in that,too.

Giving one more yawn, she fought her grogginess, but it was winning. At the same time she found herself snuggling closer to his chest for warmth. Her body felt relaxed. Listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart along with the whooshing sounds of falling snow outside, she was able to fall asleep deeply, safely cocooned in Mike's arms.

.

_._

_Please review_


	13. Chapter 13

Trying to Figure it Out

_(A/N: Well, I wasn't able to finish posting before Christmastime even though I started in October! But hang on just a little longer, the story is almost done!)_

_._

Chapter 13

From outside the psychiatrist office the rumbling sound of a truck's engine could be heard. It was late evening and darkness had fallen as Christmas lights lit across the city.

Upon hearing the engine noise, Connie was the first to open her eyes from the nap.

It took her some time to realize where she was. On the sofa of the psychiatrist's office. She looked down at the arm which enclosed her_. Mike_. He had obviously fallen asleep for she heard his slowed, gentle breathing. That thought brought flutterings down deep within her. Then she berated herself for feeling that way.

Especially now.

She had just informed him she was going away with Greg. It was something she had convinced herself she needed, that getting way from all of this was exactly what she needed. Maybe the holidays were making her feel more emotional; more sentimental, because suddenly a career didn't seem to be first priority in her life. She yearned for companionship; to connect to someone, to love someone. And Greg was offering her that.

She should be content, comforted that he wanted her, too. Greg had so many qualities she wanted in a man. She wondered how to remove herself from Mike without waking him, and for a split second she almost didn't want to leave his warmth. If Greg was whom she wanted, why did she feel a pleasurable ache whenever she was physically close to Mike?

She gingerly made her move to remove herself from him by trying to go underneath his arm.

Mike opened his eyes as he felt Connie stirring. Realizing what Connie was trying to do, he reluctantly removed his arm and immediately felt the coldness from the air. Connie immediately sat up, straightening her top. When she turned to observed him, she recalled the delicious feel of his body next to hers just seconds ago and she already missed it. He really did look attractive with his clothes slightly wrinkled and his hair mused. Very casual and masculine.

"Hey," she said softly, "Have a nice nap?"

"Definitely welcomed," he responded, attempting to adjust himself, too.

"I know," she agreed, now fussing with her hair and then she stood up to unwrinkle her skirt.

Neither wanted to talk about what had just occurred.

"What I've learn from all this," Mike tried to make light of it, as he, too, stood to stretch out, "is that after a long, stressful day, the best thing I can do for myself is to take a nap!"

Connie felt relieved.

She gave him a playful smile, "That's a good way to view it...if you're a CAT!"

The door suddenly burst opened and immediately they both turned in that direction.

"You two not hear? Tow truck here now!" Frank informed them.

"Yeah, thanks, Frank," Mike gratefully replied, "thanks for everything."

"_Non c'è nulla._..it's nothing!" Frank insisted, before adding, "but maybe you help with puzzle and make new pot of coffee before you leave, eh?"

.

Fortunately, by the time the battery had been replaced in the car, the snowstorm had died down and the city became alive with people again. The Rockefeller Center tree was brightly lit as little elves surrounded Santa, helping to make holiday wishes come true for kids of all ages. The coldness only made the city sparkle more, reminding everyone that Christmas was just around the corner.

Santa, snow and Christmas. A magical combination.

Mike and Connie had just parked the car and was walking in the snow to reach the DA's building. They could hear the slushing sounds of their feet as they trudged through the blanket of snow. The decorated lights of the city glistened on branches of trees, on buildings, and on the busy traffic, bringing a warm Christmas glow throughout.

"It really is pretty nice being out in the snow," Mike commented at last.

Connie looked at him strangely.

_"What?"_ he questioned.

"Whatever happened to the office _Scrooge?_" she wanted to know, half-teasing.

"I still am," he assured her, "but even Scrooge can have a good day."

"I'll be sure to tell Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim," Connie kidded.

But Mike was serious, "Take a look around Connie," he said invitingly, "You know how usually some parts of the city are stylish and upscale while right next to it are areas that look decrepit and forsaken? Whenthey are blanketed with snow, however, one neighborhood appears just as attractive looking as the next...Christmas snow is truly the great equalizer!"

Connie was surprised, "I had never thought of snowy New York City that way, but what you've said is true."

This was a side of Mike she had never seen before, quite the opposite of the hard-driven prosecutor. They walked a bit in silence, just enjoying the view.

"I suppose once we get back to the office, you'll have to leave tonight...for a date or something," he forced the words out because it tore at his heart.

Connie looked over at his questioning blue eyes.

"Actually Greg is working late tonight," she told him.

Mike wasn't sure how to proceed.

"I think we've made quite a breakthrough with the Strangler case with the Officer Gilroy tie-in," he began, slowly measured his words, "you wouldn't HAPPEN to be interested in working a little more on the case before you leave for tonight, would you?"

If she were to go to Hawaii, this might be her last time to work on the case. Sure she was thinking about the case. Connie felt she was only fooling herself. And it didn't escape her that she was now thinking IF she were to go to Hawaii. And besides, the thought of going home to an empty apartment did not sound enticing to Connie, anyway.

"I have some time, Mike."

Mike looked her way again, but she looked away the moment their eyes met. He stared straight ahead.

"Are you hungry? I can order Chinese food."

She smiled at that thought. It would be just like old times, she thought, smiling, looking about to take in the view of the city.

Suddenly the world looked snowflake-sensational to her.

"Sounds great!"

.

They were now back at the DA's office. The Chinese food had arrived in the office. It was like it had been those many nights they had stayed late to discuss the case, with opened white containers strewn all over Mike's desk.

They should be feeling awkward. What with discovering Christmas by window shopping, sharing a kiss, decorating the tiniest of holiday trees and snuggling together on a couch, they have done simple things that a couple might do for the holidays, not two colleagues working a case. But instead, there was a comfort in what they did. It was familiar and at the end, there would be no regrets, no embarrassments. So right now, they would just focus on a case while wondering how Chinese food can be so greasy. Their usual after work method.

"This fried rice is so good," Connie said, digging into her carton with her chopsticks, "Want some?" She held it out for him.

"Oh, no thanks," said Mike as he reached for his noodles, "To me, rice is only good if you're hungry and you want 2,000 of something."

She laughed.

"Okay, now that we've gotten the comedy portion of our program out of the way," she announced with a grin, "are you ready to discuss the case?"

He picked up an egg roll, "My egg roll and I are all ears," he told her. taking a bite.

"_Good._.." she said, "Since we don't have a fancy crime board like the detectives, we need to just bounce ideas off of each other."

"You bounce first," Mike said, managing to keep a straight face.

"I will," Connie said smiling, taking a sip of her soda, before turning serious again, "So... eight months ago. Officer Gilroy arrests Larry Grover for buying drugs in the same area of the park where Carl Harding coincidentally murders a woman a few days ago. So the question is, is it just a fluke that all three of them were in the same area of the park at one time or another?"

"It does seem odd that their lives just happened to intersect at one time or another," Mike said,

"Do you think we did the right thing in arresting Carl Harding? You _do_ think he's the Central Park Strangler, don't you?"

"Oh, I definitely do," Mike said, finishing up his egg roll, "And I plan to prosecute him to the full extent of the law! I just think there's some significance to witness Larry Grover lying about how he got the license plate number and about seeing the off-season plants that weren't there."

"What's your theory on why he lied?"

"The most logical conclusion would be that he lied because he wasn't there at the crime scene."

"Not there?" Connie said.

"Yes," the more Mike thought out-loud, the more it started to make more sense, "It's obvious he wanted to get the $250,000 reward money, even if he had to lie to get it. He certainly is scuzzy enough to do that."

"But that doesn't explain how he knew Harding's license plates. And you did say you believed we had arrested the right man."

"We did. It's just too bad Grover got the benefit of Harding's arrest," Mike's expression had a scowl now as he thought of how Grover had tried to put some moves on Connie earlier, "I just hate that he, of all people, got all that reward money. It should have gone to some well deserving citizens... "

Connie lifted an eyebrow, "well deserving citizens?"

"Yes," Mike confirmed, "like _us,_ for instance!"

Connie smiled at that and was just about to comment, when suddenly a strange look came over her and she slowly put down the carton of fried rice she had been holding. She was now looking at Mike, or actually past him, almost in a trance.

"Connie?" he tilted his head, a bit concerned at her strange look, "Are you alright, what's wrong?"

"Larry Grover, the witness," She looked directly at him, "_he _is what's wrong." She told him, in deep thought, as if she were still trying to put all the pieces together in her mind.

Mike leaned forward, "What are you saying, Connie? That we've arrested the wrong person in the Strangler murders?"

"No, we've arrested the right person alright," she said, looking very serious, "but in addition to Harding, I think Larry Grover is also a murderer,_"_ Connie now sounded confident with her conclusion.

Mike looked confused and exasperated, "Connie, I'm not getting it. Are you saying our witness Grover and our witness Harding are co-conspirators in the Central Park murders?"

She shook her head adamantly.

"No, Mike, I'm not saying that at all." she informed him, "Carl Harding IS definitely the Strangler. He acted alone in killing those joggers. I'm just saying that our witness Larry Grover is also a murderer."

Mike looked at her questionably, "Really?" he looked stunned, "_Whom_ did Grover murder?"

Her eyes were filled with sorrow, although she answered with certainty.

"Officer Ted Gilroy."

.

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	14. Chapter 14

It's slowly coming together

Chapter 14

As they sat in Mike's office late at night, he was looking incredulously at Connie, the Chinese takeout food all but forgotten.

"You actually think witness Larry Grover murdered Officer Gilroy? I know I hated the guy as a witness, but to peg him a murderer of a police officer? How in the world did you ever draw THAT conclusion?" Mike asked.

"I figured it out from what you had said earlier," she told him.

"Funny, I don't remember saying that Grover killed a police officer, although I may have thought it in my mind," he deadpanned.

"True, those weren't the EXACT words," Connie said, enjoying Mike's confusion, "but all along you've felt that Grover had lied about seeing suspect Harding running in the park with a left running shoe in his hand."

"Yes, that's true..." Mike said, wondering how she was going to get from point A to point B.

"I think you were right. I think Grover WAS lying about being in the park that morning. With the lies about the type of plants he saw and the license plate number, it implies he didn't see anything, so probably was never there. Exactly as you've stated all along."

"Maybe," Mike commented, still not understanding, "_but_ if witness Grover never saw anything because he was never at the crime scene, how did he get all that information against Carl Harding?"

"There's only one way..." she said mysteriously.

"Which is?" he inquired.

"Officer Ted Gilroy told him."

Mike's eyes widened, "_Officer Gilroy? _But how was Officer Gilroy able to give Grover the information about the killer?_"_

"That's the part I haven't quite figured out," admitted Connie, "I think Officer Gilroy somehow figured out that Carl Harding was the killer. Maybe he saw Harding with the shoe or maybe he saw him walking away from the crime, I don't know. But we know Officer Gilroy had arrested Grover months earlier, so he knew him and then later had given him all the necessary information so that he could approach the detectives, claiming he was a witness."

"Well, I don't think this is the time to tell the detectives all of this regarding Office Gilroy to the detectives," Mike said, "it's a lot of suppositions and we're already on the outs with them," Mike reminded her, " so we need to tread lightly. After all, we are possibly accusing a police officer of being involved in a killing spree."

Connie sighed, "I know. I certainly wouldn't want to tarnish a dead officer's reputation."

"And there's one other thing to consider, Connie," Mike said, " if Officer Gilroy knew who the Strangler was, why didn't he arrest Carl Harding himself? That would have been a career making arrest for a young rookie cop."

"That also had me stumped," Connie stated, "but this is where what you'd said earlier helped me. When you kiddingly remarked that we should have received the reward money instead of Larry Grover, that's when I started putting the pieces together."

"I wasn't kidding," he said dryly, "I wanted that money."

Connie pretended to look exasperated, "_Mike.._."

"Okay, but I don't get-" Mike began and then his confused expression turned to one of enlightment, "wait...I DO get it! I know why Officer Gilroy didn't make the arrest himself!" he started speaking excitedly, "Like us, Officer Gilroy is a city employee, therefore, he would have been ineligible to collect the reward money. We already know that money was tight for him. That reward money would have helped his family immensely."

"_Exactly,_" Connie said, looking pleased, "so Officer Gilroy convinces Grover to be his front man, and then later they could split the reward money. That's why Officer Gilroy had those brochures on cars, homes and vacations. He couldn't afford them NOW, but his circumstances would change once he was given the shared reward money."

"But then Grover got greedy and decided to keep all of the reward money for himself," Mike said, with startling clarity, "so he killed Officer Gilroy."

"Unfortunately, that's what I think happened, too," Connie told him, "we just need to figure out how Officer Gilroy knew who the Strangler was."

"And that's a big obstacle," Mike said, "and we better have our ducks all in a row before we go to the detectives with our accusations, especially if are going to involve Officer Gilroy in all of this."

"So basically all we have is witness Grover's motive for killing Officer Gilroy, but no proof that he ever met up with the officer, much less actually killed him."

"Yes," Mike concurred, "and we can't connect any of this to the Strangler."

The room was silent as Mike and Connie were lost in their own investigative theories.

"Well," Mike finally said, "I don't think we'll be able to progress any farther with the information we have now. Let's say we call it a night."

Connie hated to see the night end like this, especially since it had started out so wonderfully promising, with the nap and the sharing of dinner, but it was getting rather late.

"I agree, it is rather late," she agreed, but reluctantly.

.

Later that night, as Connie laid in her bed, she couldn't help tossing and turning. Looking over at her clock, she saw it was 2AM, With all these thoughts in her head, she knew sleep would not overtake her soon. First she would think about the case and all the holes they still had to fill in and then because she had no solutions, she would try to think of other things. Naturally her mind would then drift to feelings of Mike and the content feeling of his arm across her body. She had been so close to him, she had heard his heart pounding along with her own. Forcing her eyes shut, Connie then thought about his kiss. She brought her hand up to her lips, remembering how sensually his mouth had brushed hers. With that last thought, she snuggled in her blankets and at last she was able to fall asleep, a slight smile on her lips.

_R-r-ing!_

The ring sounded as if it were right next to her ear.

_R-r-ing!_

Oh nooo! There it was again. So annoying. She opened her eyes and from the faint light coming through her bedroom window, she knew it was early morning. Was it Greg calling? Had she forgotten to call him? What time is it? Connie groaned and glanced at the clock.

6:15 AM.

_R-r-ing!_

She groaned as she reached over to answer it.

"Hello?" she groggily spoke into the phone.

"Connie? It's Mike."

Upon hearing Mike's voice, Connie practically bolted up to a sitting position in her bed, eyes now opened wide.

"Mike?" she questioned as she pulled her blanket up higher around herself, "is everything alright?" she inquired.

"Yes, sorry about the early morning wake up call,..you were probably asleep?" Mike sounded regretful.

"No, no, it's fine," she assured him, fumbling with her words, "I'm...really... a very _light_ sleeper, so I don't mind being wakened up."

"Liar," Mike bluntly responded.

Connie could almost picture Mike grinning.

"Okay, you're right..." she stated sarcastically, "my bed and I are perfect for each other, and evidently my _phone _just hates seeing us together...is that better?"

"Much better," he agreed.

"You certainly sound chipper this morning," Connie suddenly felt a need to yawn.

"I just had an idea and suddenly it made me wide awake. If I had popped out of bed any faster, I would swear I had slept in a toaster," he deadpanned.

She laughed and thought what a nice way to wake up. Mike was obviously in a good mood. She was now fully awake and she was intrigued.

"What is it, Mike?" Connie wanted to know.

'I've been thinking about how we can prove Officer Gilroy knew that Carl Harding was the Strangler."

"That's...that's wonderful!" Connie sounded pleased. It was definitely worth it being woken up.

"But...there's a catch."

Uh-oh.

"There always is, isn't there?" Connie questioned.

"Yeah, and unfortunately, my plan concerns YOU playing a big part in it," Mike emphasized.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked hesitantly.

"I can't tell you."

"What?" Now Connie was exasperated, _"Why?"_

"Because the plan requires you to be surprised," he told her, "and I need to run some errands, therefore I won't be in the office this morning...so I need to know...will you go along with me no matter what and meet me at the 2-7 at 11?"

"I don't know if I like this..."

"It's up to you, Connie," Mike simply said, "but this time, I promise I won't 'pimp' you out," and then as if he had second thoughts. "at least...not quite." he awkwardly added.

_"What is THAT suppose to mean?"_ she wanted to know.

"My scheme in using you will not be based on your appearance," Mike guaranteed.

"So...it involves, oh, I don't know...my knowledge of yoga?" she jested.

Mike felt Connie was certainly taking his unexplained proposal very well.

"Let's just say if my plan works, we will be making an arrest... with your help, of course." He looked pleadingly at her,"And I'm pretty sure it will work. You have faith in my judgment, don't you?" and then as if he realized what he asked, "Okay, don't take that question into consideration when you decide your answer."

Connie couldn't imagine what his plan could be. Officer Gilroy was dead, so Mike wouldn't be getting the information there, while the witness Larry Grover wouldn't be willing to give up that $250,000 reward money, so HE wouldn't talk. And finally suspect Carl Harding would not incriminate himself, so who would Mike find get this evidence from and in what kind of help did he require from her that he couldn't tell her outright?

"We both know I will do it," she said at last, "but you owe me a big mug of hot chocolate from the Marshmallow Elves!"

Mike let out his breath, "Done."

Brave, wonderful Connie. After all he had put her through the past three years, she still would go along with his plan, "Thanks, Connie."

"That's what I get for being a sucker to hot cocoa." She could picture Mike smiling over the phone, "anything else?" she asked.

"Yes," Mike said, mulling over whether he should say it or not and decided he was on a roll, "I just wanted to tell you...that it was nice the other day...in the doctor's office..."

Connie smiled and was glad he brought it up. She once more snuggled back into her bed, drawing the covers around her, liking to hearing the sound of his voice while she relaxed in her bed.

"You mean about the nap?" she asked.

"Yes," he said gently, now that she encouraged the talk, "I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly."

Thinking back, she smiled sweetly at the memory.

"Me, too," she said, almost sighing in the phone, "and last night I had the most pleasant of dreams."

"Really?" he asked, interested, "tell me about it."

"Well," started Connie, "I dreamt that I was sleeping in a cave with a hibernating bear. He was delightfully warm, but oh so very noisy."

There was silence. Then-

"Very funny, Connie."

.

.

_Please review_


	15. Chapter 15

The Search for the Truth

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Chapter 15

Nothing is more beautiful than New York City wreathed in snow. It was now two days before Christmas and all the stores were arrayed in their finest holidaygarb. In Central Park, horses clomped softly with their snow-muffled hooves while in Rockefeller Center, skaters pirouette under the lit Christmas tree.

But on this particular morning Connie rushed through all the spectacular sights on her way to the precinct. She was anxious to find out how Mike planned to find out how Officer Gilroy was involved in the Strangler case and also prove that witness Larry Grover was the one who killed him.

When she got to the interrogation room, Mike was standing outside the interrogation along with Lupo and Bernard. None of the three seemed too happy. Lupo was right in the middle of a sentence when Connie walked up to them.

"...don't appreciate how you have taken over this case..." Lupo looked sternly at Mike.

"Don't lose sleep over it, Detective," Mike told him, "I felt it was necessary, being that you were busy with other cases and also for the fact that neither one of you wanted to cross that blue line."

Connie was trying to give Mike a look that said,_ tread lightly._

"Hey, now, that's not fair," Bernard jumped in, "it's true we've had other cases, but I personally am offended that you don't think we can be objective in our dealings with Officer Gilroy."

"Yeah," said Lupo "B and I just want to be sure other people are not denigrating an officer's good name with no probable cause."

Connie felt she needed to calm the tension between the three men. In her hand, she carried four paper cups of coffee in a cardboard holder.

"Good day gentlemen, " Connie burst into the group, holding out her offering, "Mornings sometimes brings out the worse in people, don't they?"

They turned and each gratefully took a cup.

"Thanks, Connie," Bernard said gratefully," but that doesn't square us with Cutter."

"Yeah," Lupo agreed bitterly, "We already know you're going to take Cutter's side on this."

Mike planted his feet firmly on the ground, "Are you saying, Detective, that you will not allow us to interview the suspect?"

"If the left shoe fits..." Bernard said, sticking up for his partner.

Connie looked beyond the three men into the interrogation room. Sitting at the lone table was suspect Carl Harding, along with another man in a gray suit whom Connie suspected was his lawyer.

"As you can see, Harding has lawyered up anyway," Bernard claimed, "you making us bring Harding in here will be a waste of time and could do more harm than good. We need to be selective when we call a suspect in for questioning. Otherwise, his lawyer can file a motion of harassment."

It was at this moment that Connie heard the frustrating sound of her cellphone ringing. _Talk about bad timing,_ she internally moaned.

"Excuse me," she politely stated, glancing down at the caller ID. It was Gregory. She wanted to ignore the call but she realized that she had forgotten to call him. She gave a half smile to her sparring colleagues, "I need to take this..."

She placed the phone next to her ear, noticing how intently Mike watched her as she walked down the hallway.

"Hello?" she answered, still walking, while sneaking a glance at the three men..

"Connie! Good news!" Greg's voice came in loud and clear, "I've booked the tickets for Hawaii!"

_Hawaii_. That seemed ages ago. Connie stopped in her tracks in disbelief.

"Greg," she said distinctly, "I hadn't told you it was a definite _yes_ yet."

"You've expressed interest," he reminded her, "besides, what's there not to like about Hawaii?"

Exasperated, Connie stared down the hallway at the three men. She so wanted to be part of that conversation. But she was here, with Greg was telling her about plans she hadn't agreed to! Her tone sounded a little more sharp than usual.

"And I let _you_ know, Greg, that I had never pictured myself spending Christmastime out of New York City."

"You'll love the tropical beaches of Hawaii once you get there," he assured her.

Connie momentarily closed her eyes and counted to three before opening them again.

"Actually, Greg," Connie glanced down the hallway again, "This isn't a good time to call. I'll get back with you."

There was a short silence.

"Fine," he said coolly at last.

After the call, Connie walked back to the three men. Mike looked concernedly at her.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Nothing to worry about," She faked a smile, "but more importantly, is everything alright here?"

"I'm still having my doubts about Harding being brought in for questioning," Lupo said, "his lawyer is going to make sure he won't talk."

"Well, Harding is here and if we let him go, he and his lawyer will be just as angry anyway," Connie pointed out, "so why not let Mike have a shot at it."

The detective exchanged uncertain looks.

"She has a point, Lupes," Bernard reasoned.

Lupo didn't appear convinced, "Okay, but you'll have to provide us with good, fresh coffee for a month."

"Done," Mike promised.

.

Mike and Connie were ushered into the room and took the only other two seats, sitting directly across from Carl Harding and his defense lawyer, Daniel Metzler. Mike and Connie recognized Metzler as the lawyer in the case involving a murder over a missing pair of dry-cleaned pants.

"I can already tell you my client refuses to talk," Metzler announced with certainty as Carl Harding stared straight ahead, stoned faced.

"Hello, Mr. Harding," It was as if Mike didn't hear the defense lawyer, "I'm EADA Mike Cutter and this is my colleague, Connie Rubirosa."

Harding's eyes glanced at Mike and then went up and down at Connie, but still he didn't say a word. He had been well coached by his lawyer.

"I have just one question for Mr. Harding," Mike informed Harding's lawyer, "and that's it. Surely you'll want us to note that your client had been cooperative with the DA's office."

"Fine, just one 'yes' or 'no' question and then you'll note to the judge know that we've been cooperative," Metzler informed them.

Connie scowled, wondering what Mike was up to.

Mike nodded solemnly and looked directly at Harding.

"Mr. Harding," Mike asked bluntly, "as you are well aware, the police took away your entire collection of ladies' left shoes."

The defense lawyer interrupted, "that's not a question."

"Alright," Mike said. He then gestured his head towards Connie, "how would you like to hold Ms. Rubirosa's left shoe in your hands?"

Stunned, Connie whipped her head over at Mike.

_"What?"_she asked demandedly.

"What?" lawyer Metzler looked incredulous.

"Really?" asked Harding wistfully.

"Mike...mind if I have a word with you?" Connie asked. They both leaned in and it was one of the few times Connie didn't notice his nearness, her mind still reeling, "_Mike, really? My shoe?_" she whispered disdainfully, her eyes flashing "_Do you REALLY want to indulge his sick, demented desire?"_

_"Connie, do you want to catch a murderer or NOT?"_he whispered back.

She bit her lower lip, although her eyes flashed. She gave Harding a hard stare which seemed to entice him further.

"Carl," defense lawyer Metzler told him, "this is ridiculous. Let's go."

"Wait!" Harding told his lawyer. He then looked at Connie, "Please, Miss," Harding implored her, "I have needs that aren't being met in here."

_Eww._ Connie wanted to deny his request, go home and take a shower. Instead, she moved away from Mike and keeping her head held high, she reached down as Harding salaciously watched her. Looking at Mike with a look of disdain, she pulled off her shoe and slammed it on the table. When Harding reached lustfully over, she held onto her shoe.

"Are you going to tell us what we want to know, Mr. Harding?" she asked, holding firmly onto her shoe, as if her life depended on it.

"Y-yes!" he was practically drooling.

"Carl," his lawyer cautioned, "I must object to you-"

_"Shut up, Metzler, before I fire you!_" declared Harding as he watched Connie reluctantly removing her hand from the shoe.

Metzler stared at his client with hatred and then threw his arms up in a gesture of surrender.

Meanwhile, Carl Harding was in heaven. He reached over and picked up the shoe delicately, as if it were Cinderella's glass slipper. Then lovingly caressing it, he brought it up to his nose. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes in rapture.

"_I'm going to be sick,"_ Connie mumbled under her breath, immediately taking off her other shoe and leaving it on the ground. She looked at Harding with contempt while Mike grimaced with disgust.

Mike then reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture of Officer Gilroy, placed it on the table and slid it closer towards Harding.

"Have you seen this man before, Mr. Harding?" Mike asked, pointing to the picture.

Harding cradled Connie's left shoe to his bosom while he glanced at the picture.

"Yeah, I've seen him," Harding admitted, "he's the cop who pulled me over."

It was want they wanted to hear. Connie was no longer in shoe shock. So there _was _a connection between witness Larry Grover, Officer Gilroy and suspect Carl Harding.

She leaned forward, refusing to look at her shoe, "Explain it in a way so we understand," she stated matter-of-factly.

Harding nodded, " I was driving home on Monday. It was dark inside my car and I should have been paying attention to my driving but I was distracted by the new running shoe I had taken. I HAD to keep looking at it, touching it, smelling it. You know? It was irresistible. I'm only human."

"I doubt that," Connie murmured.

"Anyway," Harding continued, "in all my excitement, I guess my foot really floored the accelerator and I was flying down the road. But I didn't even notice because I was so excited by my little prize."

"And this is where Officer Gilroy comes into the picture," prompts Mike.

"Oh yeah," Harding said, "I soon hear sirens and when I looked in the mirror there were police lights flashing. The officer is getting out of the car and I knew I have this incredible shoe on my lap. So, of course, I quickly tossed it in the back seat, but I know I've been caught. Then he walked up to the window of my car and asked for the usual information, blah-blah-blah."

Harding took a deep breath and he lovingly petted Connie's shoe before continuing.

"After that, the police officer told me he was going to give me a ticket. He took my license and went back to his car. From my car mirror, I could see him just sitting there, thinking."

"So Officer Gilroy knew," Connie interjected to help the story along, "he had seen the running shoe in the backseat of your car and knew that he had pulled over the Central Park Strangler in a random traffic stop."

She knew the rest. Officer Gilroy knew it was his duty to arrest the murderer. It would be a career-making move, probably would make him a national hero. But being an officer of the law, he would not be able to collect the $250,000 reward money. And his family needed that money. Yet all he would get was a handshake from the mayor.

Officer Gilroy must have struggled with his moral dilemma, Connie thought. He had to choose between arresting the culprit for glory or getting money for his growing family. His tragic mistake was that he decided he could do both with tragic consequences.

Meanwhile, Carl Harding was still talking, "I thought for sure he was sitting in the car, calling for backup," Harding told them, "but when he came back to my car, he handed me my license and let me off with a warning. Can you believe that?" he looked at them incredulously, "I couldn't believe my break! I guess he never saw the shoe in the back seat! He didn't know who I was."

"Oh, he knew exactly who you were, Mr. Harding," Mike said with surety.

His attorney sat back, thoroughly frustrated.

"I'm done," he said.

Afterwards, Lupo and Bernard gave Mike and Connie a grateful look as they led Harding away. Alone in the interrogation room now, Connie turned to Mike.

"Mike."

"Hmmm?"

"Next time, do me a favor."

"What's that, Connie?"

"If you _ever_ again have to choose for me to either confront a stalker juror or a shoe fetish suspect... definitely, _pimp me out!"_

Mike couldn't help but smile.

.

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_Last chapter coming up!_

_Please review_


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